Lost & Found
by Loten
Summary: The Immortals Quartet: Realms of the Gods, written from Numair's perspective. Sequel to Divine Intervention. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

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_**Author's Note: **__Welcome to the fourth and final book of the series. I'm confident in saying that this is the favourite of almost all my readers; hell, it's my favourite, too! It was probably the most difficult one to write, as well, simply because there were so many directions I could have taken it. As far as Numair is concerned, however, this book probably isn't as bad as Emperor Mage was; he spent most of that one absolutely terrified and furious, whereas he's going to spend most of this one extremely confused and overwhelmed. It's not much of an improvement, I'll grant you – more a different style of torment! But this book should be a lot less dark than Divine Intervention was, with more humour to go with the angst – plus, there will be plenty of fluff._

_This book is going to be a lot longer than the others, I think. There's a lot of extra material in the first few chapters, covering that period between the prologue at Midwinter and the battle at Midsummer; I've also added scenes throughout the rest of the story when I thought them necessary. And there's some more extra material at the end, since this book has the most nonsensical ending point of any of the four. I hope you all enjoy it. If you're a regular reader, try to leave a review, even if it's only a brief note – I know there are many readers who don't, and I'd love to read your opinion of my work. With that said, let's take a look at the prologue, when the barrier collapses and Numair realises something._

_**Obligatory Disclaimer: **__Despite my best efforts, still not mine.

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Numair was dreaming, or was it a memory? He wasn't certain, and it didn't matter anyway. It was one of those strangely lucid dreams where he seemed to be on the outside, looking in, able to think as he observed it. There wasn't much to the dream, just an image of himself and Daine lying half-asleep in the grass on a warm summer night, star-gazing. His arm was around her and her head rested on his shoulder. That was all. It was very unlike his usual dreams, but he didn't want it to end because he felt so relaxed and content.

He jolted awake suddenly, and for a moment wasn't sure why. It hardly seemed fair; the details escaped him now but he'd been enjoying a peaceful dream, which after months of nightmares about Carthak made a very pleasant change, and he resented losing it. A heartbeat later he became aware of the sheer amount of power in the air, and sat up sharply as the sweat broke out down his spine; what was going on? The air was _throbbing _with it.

Something seemed to shift in the atmosphere, a wrenching kind of pressure that sent a wash of energy over him and almost overwhelmed him; he realised he was listening, although he couldn't hear anything as such. Dizziness took him for a moment, and when it cleared he shuddered with unease as he discovered that he could _feel _everyone else in the building. No, not everyone, he realised a moment later, but every mage of any kind. He could have pointed to their exact locations and said what they were doing; he could almost see them.

This was worse than the City of the Gods. He'd never felt so much power in one place before. It took only a heartbeat to determine that none of the palace mages were causing this; cautiously he let his senses expand a little further, but the magic filling the air didn't seem to have a source. The city was affected as strongly as the palace; he suspected the whole country was much the same, and hastily pulled back before he became totally overwhelmed by _hundreds _of mages. The dozen or so in the palace were enough.

What had happened? Blinking sweat out of his eyes, Numair focused on his friends nearby, and after a moment realised why it felt so overwhelming. It wasn't just the Gift he was feeling; those with wild magic were being affected too, and he was lucky – or unlucky – enough to be able to sense both. There was something else present too, that he couldn't identify. He looked around his room, staring towards each mage in turn, practically able to see straight through the walls; the world had rocked on its foundations.

Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate; something fundamental had changed, something that had been the same all his life, that he had taken for granted. No, not changed; _gone. _He drew in a sharp breath of sudden horror as he realised what it was, and felt colder than a Midwinter dawn could account for.

He became aware of an almost expectant silence; everyone was waiting for someone else to speak and provide the voice of reason. Licking his lips nervously, he took a deep breath, held it for a moment and let it out. The tension was heightened when Kitten started keening rapidly, a sound he'd never heard the dragon make before and shouldn't have been able to hear now, given that the immortal was in Daine's room down in the stables – hundreds of yards from his own rooms. Slowly, Numair focused on his friend, who was as lost as the rest of them, seeking reassurance from the sense of her presence.

"Kit, hush," she said absently, clearly not expecting the dragon to listen to her. "Numair, what is it?" Evidently she and the others were as aware of him as he was of them. It was habit for her to ask him for an explanation when something strange happened; usually he liked that, but right now he had nothing comforting to say.

"It's the barrier," he replied softly, disturbed by the way his voice seemed to echo, a little unnerved that everyone could hear him. "The barrier between the realms," he elaborated. "It's – gone. Evaporated."

He could feel her blink, as if those long, dark lashes of hers touched his cheek. Time slowed, and a familiar feeling of unease shivered down his back. For some time now he had been increasingly aware that his friend and student was growing into a lovely young woman; it was starting to bother him to the point where he'd wondered if it was wise for them to continue working together. He'd put off thinking about it, but now when the world seemed so strange and out of sync he considered what it would be like facing the chaos to come without her at his side.

The idea caused almost physical pain, and he frowned slightly, confused for a moment. Distantly he heard Daine reply. "The immortals – they'll be on us like a ton of bricks," she said calmly, sounding completely unruffled. "I'd best get up." Despite the confusion and the worry filling him, he couldn't help but smile; the comment was so typically Daine. Her matter-of-fact tone eased the tension filling him and soothed away his worry, just as it always had. _It's no wonder I love you, _he thought vaguely, before his eyes widened in shock as he realised what he'd just said to himself, and widened further when he remembered what he had been dreaming before he woke.

Numair never heard if anyone else tried to say anything. Automatically he raised wards around his room, cutting himself off from everyone else once more; alone inside his head again, he shivered, staring blankly at the wall and struggling to think. He should have been thinking about the barrier, trying to work out what had happened and whether it could be fixed, but all he could think of was what he had just learned about himself; that he was in love with Daine.

In a way, he wasn't all that surprised, now he considered it. She was the sort of woman many men would love, after all; she was beautiful, intelligent, funny, strong... Even so, he had thought – hoped – that he was a better man than this. As his student, she was off limits. More than that... Daine was very mature for her age, having been through so much in her life, and it was easy to forget just how young she was. She wouldn't turn sixteen for a few weeks yet, and he would be thirty in a couple of months. Shame stirred, and he buried his head in his hands with a groan; this was too much to cope with all at once. _The gods must really hate me. _He had never been in love before, and it just figured that when it finally happened it would be the one woman he could not have. Someone, somewhere, must be laughing.

With an effort, he shoved aside his self-loathing and shame for a moment to try and think more clearly. It didn't really matter that much, he realised slowly, not yet. Nobody else knew how he felt, and he decided swiftly that nobody else _would _know. Certainly not Daine; he would not put her through this. So he'd just keep silent and watch himself carefully, that was all; it wouldn't kill him, and it might just stop him from losing a friendship that meant so much to him.

It wasn't going to be as easy as that, he knew. If this was real love of the kind he had seen between his friends – but how likely was that? He was famous for his carefree attitude towards women; he couldn't possibly be in love – it wasn't going to go away and it would be painful to endure it in silence, alone. But the alternative was to speak up and possibly end up with everyone hating him; all right, that was the worst case scenario, but it wasn't out of the realms of possibility. If he said anything, he would either lose Daine and possibly some or all of his other friends, or – worse – she might be confused and think she felt something for him; he'd seen that happen before too. So, he would say and do absolutely nothing, and his young student would not learn how he felt.

That decision made – it was going to come back to haunt him, and sooner rather than later, he knew – he tried to turn his attention to the more important problem of the barrier between the realms. Pacing back and forth in his room, he began to dress on the move as he attempted to clear his head and concentrate, but his thoughts inexorably returned to Daine as he tried once more to work out how this had happened. He had always known that his friendship with her was different from anything else in his life; right from the beginning he had trusted her more than anyone else, and he had been able to tell her things he'd never spoken of before. Numair didn't trust people easily; what had happened in Carthak the first time had badly scarred him and left him with little inclination to try and close the gap his power created between himself and others. Until meeting Daine, he had done better on his own. He hadn't exactly been happy, but he had survived well enough.

For years he had been asking himself why it was different with her. It wasn't her age; he knew people older and younger than her, and had taught young students before. He couldn't put it into words, but something about her was exactly what he needed, as if she somehow matched his old injuries and fitted into his world as though she had always been there, understanding things about him that he himself didn't know. It seemed mutual, too; what they shared was unlike anything else. Until now, he had never had reason to question it, but now it seemed vital that he pull it apart and find out why this thing had happened.

_What do _I _know about love? _he asked himself bitterly. This was one problem he couldn't puzzle out, and there was nobody he could talk to about it, no book that could give him the answer. It was too much to deal with right now, too raw, but there was no knowing when he would next get any time to sit and think and in the meantime he had to face everyone. _It's probably just confusion because of the barrier. Or maybe I'm losing my mind. _His head spinning, Numair left his rooms and slowly walked through the corridors in search of his friends, trying to focus on the problem of the barrier rather than his own emotional mess. _One thing at a time._

The barrier had obviously weakened from being constantly torn apart by Ozorne's mages, and now, as with most spells done by mortals, it had finally run out of power. There was now nothing to hold back the immortals of the Divine Realms. He knew the spells that had been used to tear holes in the barrier, but they were no use whatsoever. He had read about the original creation of the barrier; it had been made by black robes, mainly, after all. But the actual spell used had not been recorded, for good reason no doubt, and even if it had been it would take months of study before he or anyone else could try and recreate it, months they did not have. Not to mention that doing so was likely to kill every mage involved; he was expendable, but the next two strongest mages in the country were the king and the Champion, neither of whom could be risked.

Numair's head was already aching. His mind had gone from racing to spinning in circles, getting nowhere. Maybe if he had only had to face one crisis at a time he could have coped, but he had two to deal with instead and one would have to be sorted completely on his own. It would only get harder as time went on. Shaking his head, he reached the door of the meeting room most often used by Jon and his circle of friends and advisers and went in.

* * *

He was the last to arrive, it seemed. The worried conversation broke off and everyone stared at him expectantly; he almost cursed. He was the black robe, the master of arcane knowledge and power, and now everyone was looking to him for an explanation and a solution. _Well, I don't have one. _His eyes automatically searched the room for Daine, part of him half-hoping that what he had realised earlier was just his imagination; no such luck, it seemed. The sight of her burned through him right down to his soul, or that was what it felt like; more than that, it made him feel guilty, and he looked away and tried not to flinch.

Everyone was still staring at him hopefully. He remembered the siege at Pirate's Swoop, as the silence grew more oppressive; like now, people had been looking to him for a miracle he didn't know how to give them. He had been scared then, remembered telling Daine so, remembered her understanding; now he looked around at his friends' faces and felt tired more than anything else. Underneath the weariness were both fear and anger, but somehow a very long way away. He hated to disappoint them, but he was as human as they were and he didn't know what to do either.

Looking around the room once more, he realised that everyone in the kingdom would be looking to this group of people for answers; they, in turn, were looking to the one person who would know the solution if there was one. Sadly, they were going to be disappointed. He smiled sourly. "Midwinter luck, everyone," he said sarcastically. _We're going to need it._

Avoiding eye contact with everyone, he slunk across the room to his usual seat next to Daine; she touched his hand when he sat down, and the brief contact felt like she'd branded his skin. Suddenly he felt raw, exposed, as though his feelings were written across his face, and it took an effort to stop himself flinching away, but she needed reassurance as much as the others did. _Too bad; I've none to give, not this time. _Even so, he managed a brief smile before he pulled away and turned back to the room as a whole.

"Numair, what can you tell us?" Jon asked.

He shrugged. "Not much. The barrier between the mortal and divine realms no longer exists. I would guess that having all those windows torn in it had weakened its integral structure to such an extent that now, on the Solstice when it is naturally less substantial, it has simply evaporated."

"Then you don't think it was deliberately removed?" Alanna asked.

"No. I don't think such an action was possible, or it would surely have been done sooner. In any case, the fabric of the spells composing the barrier could not be removed without causing a backlash of reaction; tearing a hole is fairly simple compared to unravelling the entire working."

"Simple, he says," Harailt muttered; the other mage had also memorised the spells used to create windows in the barrier and knew just how complex they were. Jon silenced the dean with a look and turned back to Numair.

"Can it be replaced?"

"Perhaps. _If _we had the spell, and _if _we had the power to cast it, and _if _we had time to research it."

"Could you do it?"

Numair stared at him, realising that Jon was completely serious. "What? Mithros, no! The original spell was created by more than a dozen mages, including several black robes, that much I do know. It killed many of them in the process, but more than that, the barrier was a spell-weave of unbelievable complexity and the spells involved were not recorded. Even if I had the power, it would take months if not years to work out how to recreate it, with no guarantee that it would work."

Disappointment filled every face that he could see. _Surely you didn't expect it to be that easy, _he thought sourly. And why should it be him? Why did everyone think that he would magically – _hah _– know what to do? His headache was getting worse. When nobody said anything else, he shrugged, looking down at the tabletop. "I'm sorry," he said softly, feeling as though he had let them down.

"Is there a spell that would temporarily protect us, and buy us some time?" Alanna asked.

"I don't know. Maybe," he said unwisely.

* * *

_I have to admit, I was childishly tempted to write this in a totally different style. All the canon material says is that Numair realises something he has never considered before. Every single fan assumes that it's the moment he realises he's in love with Daine; I was so, so tempted to have him realise something else instead, something really mundane like he's forgotten to give Lindhall a book he borrowed weeks ago, or he forgot to buy a new razor, or something. I might have to do that as a one-shot someday._

_Anyway, disregarding my strange sense of humour, Numair's just been attacked by a blinding flash of the obvious. This takes place a couple of months after Carthak, which was at some point during the autumn; it's taken him quite a while to work it out, hasn't it? I tried to show with his dream that he's been in love with her for quite some time and his emotions have just been quietly developing in the background while his brain catches up, to the point where he himself takes it for granted until he realises what's just happened._

_This is just the start for him. Quite obviously, it's only going to get worse. The next chapter continues from where this leaves off, and has a few small isolated snippets of the first couple of weeks. As always, review and let me know what you think._

_**Loten.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

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_Lots of new reviewers as well as my regulars! That makes me happy. Onwards we go; happy Midwinter, Numair... and happy birthday, Daine... plus some rambling late-night introspection and a touch of unicorn fever.

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That one foolish word meant that he was now spending Midwinter in the library by himself. It was several hours later; he hadn't eaten anything all day, not that he could have forced anything down if it had been offered; his headache was almost blinding now and he was getting precisely nowhere. The stack of paper by his elbow was now covered in calculations and notes; his handwriting had started off neatly, but the latest page was almost indecipherable. He also appeared to have switched languages at some point, he realised; he spoke Common as fluently as any Tortallan, but when he was stressed it was sometimes easier to think in his native Tyran.

The answer was much as he had expected, anyway. There were a great many protective spells that were effective over small areas, but there was no way to amplify them enough to cover more than a few miles. Not the answer the king and court wanted; not the answer they had hoped he could give them. Pushing the latest book aside, he rubbed aching eyes and stretched stiffly, rolling his shoulders; he'd spent too long sitting in the same place. Standing, he began pacing back and forth, trying to think.

There wasn't really anything that could be done. Replacing the barrier was not an option, at least not yet; there were enough lesser mages scattered throughout the kingdom to protect some parts at least, but the rest of the country was going to be open to immortal attacks. The Own, the Riders, and himself and Daine would have to be on the move a lot over the next few months. It was certainly not an ideal situation, but Numair couldn't see another choice.

A bell pealed nearby, making him groan as his headache flared anew, summoning everyone to the Midwinter feast. For now, they were going to have to pretend that everything was fine; no need to spoil the festival by causing a panic. He considered going to the feast, thought about talking and laughing and acting like everything was fine, being around Daine as always, and decided he couldn't face it, not now. There was too much on his mind, too many problems both international and personal.

Daine found him still in the library some time later. He wasn't sure how long it had been; his head was buzzing now as he stared vaguely at his notes. "Numair? You weren't at the feast – " she started, frowning; she really was beautiful, he noticed absently, wondering why he had never really realised before. "Is everything all right?"

"What could possibly be wrong?" he asked dryly.

"You're drunk," she said flatly.

"Actually, no, I'm not," he replied. "It's an idea, though. Maybe I'll recommend it to Jon. It's about the only solution I've found so far."

She remained standing in the doorway, scowling at him; for a moment he had the mad urge to tell her what he'd learned that morning. This really had been a bad idea. "Numair..."

"Don't. I'm not in the mood to be lectured right now, Daine." He rubbed his eyes. "I've been working all day. What Alanna wants can't be done. I don't particularly want to have to tell her that. I don't have the faintest idea of what to do now and I would quite like to just sit here and not think for a while, if that's all right with you."

Something in his tone must have betrayed the mess his head was in; her eyes actually softened a little. He tried not to stare at her. "This isn't a good idea."

"No, but I don't have any good ideas right now," he replied gloomily. He sighed. "Go back to the others, magelet. No point in both of us feeling terrible. Go have fun while you still can."

She rolled her eyes. "You're in a fair wonderful mood tonight." Moving forward, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Midwinter luck." She left a confused Numair staring after her with his mouth open.

* * *

Their first assignment was absolute hell for Numair. His nerves were raw; he spent the entire trip in a state of nervous tension, watching everything he said or did for fear of inadvertently betraying himself, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was lying awake at night listening to her breathing, so close by and yet so far away, unable to sleep because he couldn't stop thinking – well, brooding.

There was one small shred of comfort to cling to; most of the time, his dreams – when he did sleep – weren't sexual. No matter how bad this was, at least he could tell himself that it wasn't just sex he wanted. That was certainly a part of it, though; he had never felt so ashamed of himself as he did the first time he dreamed of Daine _that_ way, and he'd never been so grateful for the fact that he didn't talk in his sleep.

He had managed to make one sensible decision, at any rate. Since Carthak, several young men around the palace seemed to have realised the same thing he had; namely, that Daine was growing into a very beautiful young woman. Numair had viewed this with a blend of his usual overprotectiveness and amusement; both attitudes annoyed Daine immensely. But now everything had changed; oh, how it had changed. He hated the fact that he was jealous, insanely jealous of boys just over half his age, and he had made the decision to distance himself from that part of Daine's life. He didn't want to know. She could look after herself, and she wouldn't do anything she wasn't ready for; it wasn't his business, and whatever he saw or heard, he would only imagine the worst anyway. It had nothing to do with him, and so he had decided not to try and find out whether she was involved with anyone. If he didn't know for certain, he could lie to himself and continue to feel hope.

It was obvious that something was wrong, even though he was trying his best to act normally – maybe because he was trying to act normally. When Daine finally asked him openly what was the matter, he told her he was just stressed with everything that had happened – carefully not specifying what 'everything' actually entailed – and added truthfully that he felt a little guilty about not being able to find a solution to the barrier problem. She seemed to accept it, but at the same time she knew him well enough to know he hadn't told her the whole truth; it put a distance between them. Usually they shared everything, near enough; it had been years since he'd hidden anything from her – apart from Carthak, anyway.

In the middle of another sleepless night, Numair suddenly opened bloodshot eyes and stared at the ceiling. He'd been in a near-trance for hours, not quite asleep but not really awake, letting his mind gently tick over in the background; it was a familiar method of problem-solving when something was really chewing on his soul. And it had worked again; a small part of his brain had come up with something. Blinking slowly, trying not to think and disturb the mood, he breathed shallowly and let the thought drift into the forefront of his mind.

_Love and friendship aren't necessarily different things._

Numair considered this for a while, lack of sleep slowing his mental processes, and wished vaguely that his subconscious could be a little more helpful. After some time, he could feel the shape of the idea, but it wasn't going to be easy to rationalise it and put it into words.

What he felt for Daine... It wasn't really much different from what he had always felt. Right from the very beginning, he had enjoyed her company, been protective of her, wanted to help her in any way he could and hated to see her hurt. He had never had a problem with sharing his life with her, when he held himself back from others who had known him far longer. He had always admired so much about her; her courage, her strength, her sense of humour, her obstinacy and common sense. He had tried to be a part of her world as much as possible, tried to understand her magic as much as anyone without it could understand, not for the sake of knowledge but because he genuinely wanted to. He would die for her without hesitation.

None of that had changed, only grown stronger and deeper over time. And none of it was shameful, either. But it was certainly love. Numair frowned thoughtfully; like most men, he wasn't really aware of his emotions a lot of the time and had never bothered to try and categorise his relationships. He loved all his friends, he realised slowly; it didn't have to be a bad thing.

So, where did this lesson leave him? His feelings for Daine sounded so simple when he sorted them out this way, but there was more to it than that. It wasn't just physical – although that was certainly a factor now; he felt himself blush, and shifted guiltily in the darkness. Maybe he could have blamed that on his overactive libido and the fact that Daine had grown into a beautiful young woman; it didn't necessarily have to mean anything much. Most of his female friends were extremely attractive. But even as he framed the thought, Numair knew he was fooling himself; he'd thought of it weeks ago and considered distracting himself, and discovered somewhat worryingly that he simply wasn't interested in anyone else. Every time he looked at a woman he found himself starting a comparison in his head, and whoever she was she would be found wanting. Daine's age was the problem that bothered him most, but since there was no way of changing that he would think about it later and try and work the rest out first.

Friendship and desire, then. If that was all there was to it, he could have coped by focusing on the friendship and ignoring the desire – as much as that was possible, anyway. More difficult to deal with was the discovery at Midwinter that he had a jealous streak in him; the idea of Daine being with anyone else left him feeling angry, miserable and almost in physical pain. That was both selfish and, at his age, somewhat pathetic. Even so, it was just a stronger version of what he had always felt, what most people – if they were honest – felt about their friends. Nobody liked sharing the privilege of spending time with someone whose company they enjoyed.

When he looked at things in this light, it didn't seem so bad. His friendship with Daine had evolved over time, that was all. Not in the way he had expected, and not in a way he was entirely comfortable with, but it wasn't as unnatural as it had seemed at first. He simply hadn't been aware of it happening, so of course it had been a shock when he finally realised. There was no way of changing it, so he would live with it. It was going to be hard, and it would hurt, but maybe it was the price he had to pay for such an important friendship. If so, then it was worth it.

Feeling a lot better for this, Numair rolled over and closed his eyes, and for the first time since Midwinter he was able to sleep deeply.

* * *

With time, things grew easier, as their assignments blurred together in an endless stream of travelling and fighting and exhaustion began to drag at them both. Numair was too tired and too busy to worry so much, and grew more confident in his ability to keep silent and avoid revealing anything he shouldn't admit to. He learned to value the sleepless nights he spent listening to her breathing and the brief times when he dared to watch her sleeping; these nights might be all he would ever have.

Daine's sixteenth birthday passed while they were on the road; she seemed surprised that he had remembered, given everything else that was going on at the same time. _As if I'd forget. _Under the circumstances, they couldn't have much of a celebration, though; fighting killer unicorns wasn't much of a birthday present, and this herd proved particularly stubborn, enough to leave them both very tired and only wanting to sleep.

Numair was woken by the familiar if unwelcome sensation of a horse butting his face with its nose. Usually that was Spots, who was gentler than Cloud; this time it turned out to be both animals, when he finally opened his eyes and focused. "It's still dark," he mumbled, rolling over. "Go away, both of you." A hoof nudged his ribs, carefully enough that it had to be his own gelding; it was Cloud who lowered her muzzle to his ear and whinnied loudly. He swore at her, shoving her nose away, and sat up to ask Daine to stop the horses tormenting him; she was still asleep.

Glaring daggers at the mare, he tried to lie down again and was stopped by Spots catching his shirt in his teeth. Frowning, Numair looked at them, his mind finally waking up to the fact that this was very strange behaviour; he looked back to Daine and noticed Kitten sitting on her haunches beside the girl's head, staring intently at him, waves of colour washing over her scales. "Kit? What is it?" he asked, keeping his voice down to avoid waking Daine.

He needn't have bothered. The dragonet lowered her head to Daine's ear, much as Cloud had done to him earlier, and let out an ear-splitting whistle. Wincing, Numair braced himself, but Daine didn't even stir. Still half-asleep, it took him a moment to realise that something was very wrong. Scrambling free of his blankets, he rounded the dying embers of the fire and crouched beside her. "Daine?" he called softly. "Magelet, can you hear me?"

Reaching out, he touched her face gently, and swore again; her skin was flushed and she was burning up. But why? How? She hadn't been sick last night; he would have noticed. Abruptly he realised; _unicorns. _Pulling aside her blankets, he examined her quickly and found the injury, a small scratch on her arm that was slightly puffy and hot to the touch.

_Unicorn fever. _That was very bad. Why hadn't she told him she'd been wounded? They both knew the risks of the disease. Numair shook his head; it didn't matter now. What _did _matter was that they were in the middle of nowhere, in deep snow, days from the nearest healer. Looking around, he found both horses and dragon watching him worriedly, and bit his lip. "It's bad," he told them softly, fear beginning to send chills down his spine. "I'll help her. I promise."

Treat it like a normal fever, for a start. He set Kitten to gathering firewood, helped to some extent by the horses, and built the fire up to a roaring blaze. Cleaning the cut on Daine's arm, he bandaged it lightly and wrapped her in as many layers of clothing as he could get on, including some of his own, and cocooned her in his own blankets as well. Cloud lay down at the girl's back, lending extra warmth, and Kitten curled up with her as well; Numair had to pull Spots out of the way so he could get to Daine.

He couldn't get her to drink, and in the end stopped trying in case he choked her. Staring around desperately, he ran through the steps he'd taken in his mind; there was nothing else he could do here. Daine needed a healer. She was like him, she very seldom took ill, and so whenever something did get through her defences it was always serious. Shivering – he was down to just his shirt and breeches now, and it was snowing again – he turned his attention to the fire and reached out with his Gift, praying that Alanna was in range.

Wherever the Lioness was, she wasn't near a fire, but then he should have expected that. At this time of night she was probably asleep; he seemed to remember she'd been doing something involving ogres, south of Corus somewhere. It wasn't important, anyway. Without a fire as a conduit it was difficult to send a speaking spell over such a long distance, but that was even less important; he knew Alanna well enough to make it easy for him, anyway.

The King's Champion didn't like being woken early. He ended up all but screaming her name into the ball of black fire he held in one hand, his voice carrying power, before he got any sort of response at all and when she did finally answer her voice was so faint he could barely hear her.

"Numair? Is that you?"

"Yes," he called. "Can you hear me?"

Her muffled reply sounded like a curse. "Hold on." The spell broke, and after a moment the fire turned purple. "That's better. You'd better have a damned good reason for this; do you know what time it is?"

"No," he replied, sending power into the flames as he answered. "Daine's sick."

Alanna was cut off in mid-rant by this news. "Sick how?"

"Unicorn fever, I think."

"By the Goddess! How bad?"

"I don't know. Bad. I can't wake her." Briefly, Numair outlined the story, such as it was – a fight with killer unicorns yesterday, and then he'd been woken by two horses and a dragon, all panicking. He hadn't realised Daine was ill and hadn't known she'd been injured.

"How could you not know?" Alanna snapped. He flinched.

"She didn't say anything. It – it's only a tiny scratch, Alanna. I don't know if she even realised."

"That wasn't fair of me. I'm sorry. What have you done for her?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Built the fire up and piled clothes and blankets on her. I can't get her to drink any water and I know you're not supposed to feed a fever. I don't know what else I can do."

"Nothing but keep her warm and get a healer to her. Where are you?"

"I have no idea. I could find it on a map but there aren't any landmarks out here, just snow and trees. I don't know where the nearest town is. Where are _you?"_

"A long way away, I think. You're going to have to get her to Corus. It's a bad idea to move her but there's no choice. Can you manage?"

"I'll have to, won't I? She – she's really ill, Alanna." He swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on the here and now; if he let himself give in to fear even for a moment, he'd be worse than useless.

"She's strong, Numair, you know that. Keep her warm and get her to Corus as quickly as you can. If I'm not there before you, tell Duke Baird I'm on my way. I'll see you soon; try not to worry." Her tone said clearly that she knew how useless that piece of advice was. He ended the spell without saying goodbye, turning his attention to his worried audience.

"Kit, come here and help me pack," he ordered the dragon, beginning to shove their possessions into the packs with no regard for neatness; it was speed that counted now. "Cloud, you'll need to carry all our things, and Kitten; I'll take Daine on Spots. I know you'd rather carry her," he added as the pony looked at him reproachfully, "but she'll be warmer if she rides with me."

Doing something helped, he decided. The animals cooperated, even Cloud, from which he deduced that Daine was _really _sick; this wasn't helping his self-control, but in a remarkably short time they were on the move as fast as the horses could move in the snow. If Daine were awake she would be furious with him over such a swift pace in these conditions, but then again, if she were awake it wouldn't be necessary. Besides, the horses were doing it by themselves; he had his full attention occupied just staying in the saddle and holding Daine against his chest. It wouldn't have been easy at the best of times; now, when he was so worried, and given that he was a terrible rider anyway, it was almost impossible.

He was also freezing cold. It was still snowing, and he'd wrapped Daine in his tunic and cloak, leaving himself just his shirt and breeches. Numair had always hated the cold anyway and now it seemed to be burrowing into every inch of skin on his body, slowing his racing thoughts. For once he barely noticed the temperature, except for a vague regret that it meant he didn't have as much body heat to share with the girl in his arms, too busy worrying.

That ride was without a doubt the worst of his life to date. He was sure the horses were going too fast to be safe in these icy conditions, but at the same time he wished they would go faster. He made one half-hearted attempt to slow them down; they ignored him. Spots and Cloud had travelled a lot; both horses knew as well as their riders did how far and fast they could travel before needing to rest. Numair told them to stop when they needed it, without worrying about him; he wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway, so they might as well keep going while they could.

* * *

It took them two days to get to Corus; had the horses not been as worried as he was, it would have taken longer. Truthfully it should have taken longer anyway; Numair had taken a risk and opened a window between two places, saving them more than a day's ride at the cost of most of his available power. He would have done it more than once, but if anything attacked them it would only be his Gift that could protect them; he needed to save some power for emergencies. Spots and Cloud had worked miracles running cross-country in deep snow, but the pony was clearly exhausted now and the gelding was lame, limping and trying very hard to pretend he wasn't.

Someone was on their side; nothing had attacked the party. None of them had seen or sensed immortals nearby throughout the whole nightmare journey. It was probably just as well; Numair knew he wouldn't be much use now if something did jump out at them. He was so cold he couldn't feel his feet any more, or feel his knees gripping Spots' flanks, and his hands and face too were numb. He probably had the start of frostbite by now, and was starting to feel light headed. That didn't matter; nothing mattered but reaching Corus. They were almost there; he had been able to see the city lights earlier, before it had started snowing again.

The little group toiled up the hill to the palace, the laden horse with a noticeable hitch to his walk now, the pony beside him about ready to drop to her knees with every step. Despite the speed of the journey, Daine was by now very ill indeed; her breathing was a painful shallow rasp that hurt to listen to and her lips were dry and cracked with the fever that showed no sign of abating. Numair was desperately worried now, well aware that the only reason the girl he loved was still alive was that the exhausted horses had been giving her strength; he wished he could do the same.

Alanna was waiting at the stables; Numair could have wept with sheer relief to see her. "Thank the gods," he rasped, struggling to free numb legs from the stirrups, his body protesting the change in position after the nightmarish ride. He all but fell from the saddle – _nothing new there – _and was never sure how he managed to lift Daine down safely. Stefan took the horses, clicking his tongue over their condition but promising to sort them out, and Kitten trotted at Numair's heels as he limped after the Lioness towards the healer's wing, carrying Daine.

"You look terrible," she told him over her shoulder as she led the way. "Do you feel feverish at all?"

"I don't think so," he answered thickly. "I'm tired, and freezing cold, and I might have frostbite, but I think I'm all right."

"You call that 'all right'? And how did you manage to get frostbite?"

He would have shrugged if he wasn't burdened. "By giving most of my clothes to Daine to keep her warm, of course," he replied, shivering as the warmth of the palace began to thaw his extremities. Alanna gave him a sharp look.

"You – Numair, tell me you didn't just ride almost three days through a blizzard in just your shirt."

He simply looked at her and she cursed softly, shaking her head as she opened the door for him to stagger through. Duke Baird was waiting, and in a short time Daine was settled in bed in dry clothing with a group of healers beginning to work on her; Numair found himself pushed down onto a nearby chair with Alanna looking him over and muttering darkly to herself as she began repairing the damage he'd done to himself. From the way she was talking, anyone would think it had been his idea.

The healing was difficult. It always was; Numair was strong enough that even when he was half-drained as he now was, Alanna was really the only healer powerful enough to breach his defences. That was the official reason she was usually the one to treat him, anyway; he'd known for many years that it was also because the healers didn't know him well and were afraid of him. It didn't matter right now. Only vaguely aware of the damage that had been done to his body, he watched the healers working on Daine as though nothing else in the world existed.

He'd been lucky, Alanna told him tartly as she stood up; he'd lost a little skin here and there to frostbite, but apart from that he just needed rest now. He nodded vaguely, only half listening, musing that he didn't deserve to be lucky, not when his magelet was so ill. The Lioness crossed the room to consult with Duke Baird, and Numair leaned back against the wall, Kitten curling up in his lap and turning a worried shade of lilac as the pink of fear began tingeing her usual blue.

"Well?" he asked softly, hearing Alanna moving back to him; when she hesitated, he looked up sharply, feeling the blood draining from his face.

"We don't know," she told him gently. "You know the risks of unicorn fever, and she has a very bad case. But the fact that she's still alive is a good sign; if she's survived this long, she might pull through." She hesitated, reaching out to touch his arm. "Her chances aren't good, Numair. Maybe fifty-fifty."

For a moment Numair thought he was going to faint. The blood pounded in his ears and the room swayed; he couldn't seem to get enough air. After what seemed like eternity he dragged another breath into his lungs, and his surroundings grew steadier. Kitten had turned pure white, and he concentrated on stroking the dragonet as she buried her muzzle in his shirt until the blackness at the edge of his vision went away.

"Numair?" Alanna asked uncertainly.

"I heard." The voice didn't sound like him. Was this going to be Carthak all over again? He'd almost lost his hold on sanity at one point because Daine was in danger. At least he'd been able to do something then, but he was no healer and could do nothing against this. _I never did like being helpless._

"Numair, listen to me, please." Alanna was speaking in a voice he recognised, the slow, careful tones you used to speak to an injured animal to try and keep it calm, a voice he'd heard Daine use a thousand times. With an effort, he focused on what his friend was saying. "Don't give up. You know better than any of us how strong she is. If anyone can fight this off, Daine can. Above all, don't blame yourself. You couldn't have done anything more than you did; you may have saved her life. Nobody could have done more."

He heard himself answer as if from a great distance. "Any other mage could have tried to heal her, could have given her strength until we found a healer. It's one of the most basic things we're taught, and I can't even do that."

"Oh, Numair," she said softly, resting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. After a pause she remarked in a lighter tone, "I don't suppose there's any point in suggesting that you go and get some rest?"

"None."

"That's what I thought. At least try to sleep here though, please? You'll be left alone, but the healers will be checking on her every hour or so. Let them do their job and look after yourself. Daine will want to see you when she wakes up."

* * *

_My, my, life's getting complicated quickly. Sorry if it seems a little disjointed at first; I'm not even trying to tell the full story of the missing six months, just a handful of incidents from the period. Poor Numair is terribly confused right now, but he's not a complete idiot; he knows he gets extremely jealous, so he's trying not to find out who he should be jealous of, if that makes sense. He doesn't want to know if Daine's seeing someone, because his knowing isn't going to do either of them any good. _

_Sorry for his fit of rambling introspection, but it was necessary – he's likely to lose his grip unless he manages to come to terms with what he's feeling, and you have to admit it would be on his mind rather a lot. Which is helpful for me, since I can convey some of my thoughts on the two of them via Numair's mind. I hope it wasn't too repetitive._

_The unicorn fever incident brings us to the end of January; it took place in the winter, so I decided to make it on Daine's birthday on a sadistic whim (she was conceived on Beltane, so her birthday is somewhere around the end of the month). I know nothing whatsoever about unicorn fever, so everything you see here is entirely my own invention. Next chapter finishes the illness, with an uncomfortable conversation thrown in for good measure; then some more scattered incidents, including a horrible piece of news, some more introspection and a little bit of action. Possibly some angst, too._

_I'm very pleased to have so many reviews. Keep it up, please? There's only a few days left to vote in the Knighthood of Ficship competition, located at _fanfiction dot net /topic/54838/16385347/1/ _so if you haven't already, please drop by and vote for Teacher and Power? Thank you all._

_**Loten.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

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_Over sixty reviews in two chapters! Clearly this book is going to be a lot more popular than the others. This chapter runs right through the spectrum; we have fluff, angst, action, magic, and a little bit of humour... Enjoy.

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_

Numair didn't know what time it was. Truthfully, he'd lost track of what day it was. He was sitting on the floor with his back against Daine's bed at the moment, one arm along the edge of the mattress with his fingers laced through hers, his head turned to watch her face. She seemed to breathe more easily when he touched her, although it was probably only his desperate imagination. Kitten was asleep, curled up between Daine's hip and the back of Numair's head, and Numair was talking softly about nothing much. Memories, mostly, snatches of shared experiences from the years he'd known her. His quiet voice was the only sound in the room.

"I should be able to help you, magelet. I've never been much good at that, have I? There have been too many times when I've only been able to stand and watch. I suppose I shouldn't worry so much; you've always pulled through on your own. You never needed me in the end. Sometimes... sometimes I'm not sure you need me at all. But then I remember little things... like that night not long after we met, after the siege at the Swoop, when we were tracking those centaurs. You were having nightmares, and I sat up all night keeping the fire going so you'd feel safe. I wonder if you remember that? It seems such a long time ago."

He ran his thumb over her knuckles gently. "When it really matters, you don't need anyone but yourself, but maybe I can still help you with the little things. I hope so. I _hate_ seeing you hurt and not being able to do anything. Most of the time, I can't even make you feel better; I only say the wrong thing. I do try, though, and I'll keep trying as long as you let me. I can't help it; I need to be part of your life somehow."

For a moment, Numair smiled, his eyes growing distant. "I _am_ part of your life, though, aren't I? Do you know what one of my most treasured memories is, Daine? I remember crouching in the woods, with a wolf sniffing my face, hearing you introduce me as your pack. I've never forgotten that, you know. I tried explaining it to Lindhall, in Carthak, but I didn't have the words. I've never mentioned it to you, but it really does mean a lot to me to know you see me like that. I don't think I understood what it meant then, but I do now. You're my pack, too."

He took a breath, held it for a moment, and let it out in a long sigh, his eyes never leaving her face. "You have to get better, sweet," he told her quietly. "You have to. It will destroy me to lose you now. I need you too much, stupid, selfish fool that I am."

* * *

When Alanna returned to see how the patient was doing, Numair was half-asleep, still sitting on the floor by the bed holding Daine's hand. "How is she?"

"Delirious, now," he replied softly. "She's not saying much that I recognise, though. I think I've heard my name a few times, and she's been crying for her mother."

"Poor girl," Alanna murmured, resting her hand on the patient's forehead as the purple fire of her Gift flickered around her fingers. "She seems a little stronger. No, I'm not just saying that," she added as Numair looked up sharply. "The delirium is actually a good sign; it's normal for a fever this severe. If she'd stayed in the coma much longer we would definitely have lost her. Her chances still aren't good, but better than they were."

Hope stirred, and he took a deep breath, exhaling some of the tension that had filled him for days, gently squeezing Daine's hand as he looked at her. Beside his head, Kitten stirred, a gentle forepaw touching his face, and he smiled at the dragon.

"Numair..." Alanna said cautiously. He looked back at her, instantly suspicious of her expression. "How worried have you been?"

Well, he'd been expecting this discussion for months, since Carthak really. Numair gave her a puzzled look. "What do you mean? I've been worried sick, of course. She's very ill."

"That isn't what I meant." The Champion hesitated; at any other time he might have been amused by her struggle to ask the question. "Is there... is there something going on between the two of you?" she asked finally.

Her hesitation had given him time to think, and mostly he'd been thinking that he was _not _going to discuss this. Not now, probably not ever. "Don't tell me you've started listening to gossip after all this time."

"No, Numair. I've been watching you. Ever since Carthak, something's changed."

He shook his head. For a moment, just a moment, he was tempted to tell her, to break down and let it all come spilling out, because keeping silent like this was killing him; but no. He didn't know how she was going to react, and there was nothing good that could come out of confessing to anyone. "There is nothing 'going on' between us. There never has been, and there never will be." To his relief, he sounded angry, his voice not betraying the pain he felt as he realised again the truth of his words. Genuine anger stirred, and he glared at Alanna. "I also don't think it's terribly appropriate to be discussing this when Daine may be dying."

"Numair, I – "

"No, Alanna," he snapped, truly angry now; months of frustration and depression had built up to the point where he lost control. "I'm sick of this. Those rumours about us have been circulating virtually since we met; do you know what it's like, walking around the palace knowing that half the people you meet are wondering if you've been sleeping with a _thirteen year old girl?_ And look what it's done to Daine; even now there are people who whisper behind her back and call her a whore. I'm well aware that it's my own fault, because of my bad reputation, but it doesn't make it any easier to live with it. She's my best friend, the closest thing to family I've got, and she's dying. Isn't that enough for you?"

To his own surprise, he realised that he was almost crying. Until that moment he hadn't realised how guilty he'd been feeling about those rumours all these years. His outburst only reinforced something he'd realised a long time ago; he wasn't good enough for Daine, not even close. He was the kind of man who made it easy for people to believe the worst of him; even his friends were starting to wonder if he'd taken advantage of his student, and it was difficult for him to deny it. She deserved better than him, he knew that, and he still couldn't stay away from her; he was too selfish.

"I – I'm sorry, Numair. You're right. This isn't an appropriate discussion. I didn't realise... I'm sorry."

His guilt and self loathing had pushed away the anger, and he sighed, regaining control of himself. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper. I know you're only trying to help."

"You're worried. It's to be expected." He looked up, and she smiled at him, reaching down to squeeze his shoulder. "You need to sleep if you can. I'll forgive you yelling at me, this once, but other people might not." He only nodded, and after a while she left, closing the door softly behind her.

Numair looked at Daine. "I'm sorry for everything I've done to you, too," he told her miserably. Sighing, he leaned back against the bed once more, closing his eyes and meditating to firmly push down and lock away the depression that threatened to overtake him again; it was nothing new, after all. He was learning to live with it.

* * *

Some time later – he had no idea how long it had been – his thoughts had wandered back to Carthak once more, and he found himself remembering a thought that had struck him after it was all over; a focus would have been useful. He wasn't sure why he was thinking about that now, but it was true. He'd meant to ask Daine what she thought of the idea, but he'd forgotten all about it. _Hardly a rare occurrence. _There had been so many situations when it could have made all the difference, though. Chewing absently at the meat of his thumb – a nervous habit he hadn't had in years – he realised he was staring at Daine's curly hair spread across the pillow, and shivered as he became aware of what he was considering.

It made sense, though; a focus would give him a fast and reliable means of finding her if they were separated again, which seemed to happen with depressing frequency. Daine wouldn't mind, he told himself uneasily; she trusted him, although only the gods knew why. _Stop deluding yourself, _he told himself angrily; he wasn't doing this for anything but selfish reasons. He wanted something real, something he could cling to, something that might prevent him completely losing his mind. Moving slowly to avoid disturbing her or the sleeping dragon, he quietly located a pair of scissors, refusing to let himself think in case he stopped himself, and carefully removed a single smoky brown curl; wrapping it tenderly in his handkerchief, he tucked it into his pocket and returned to his now silent vigil by the bed.

When Daine finally woke up, Numair was something of a mess. He hadn't been sleeping well anyway, but a two-day ride through a blizzard followed by his own healing had drained him and he hadn't really slept for more than a few minutes at a time since. He had flatly refused to leave Daine for any length of time, which meant that when her fever broke at last he was still wearing the same shirt he'd arrived in and had a week's growth of beard covering his jaw.

Alanna allowed him to remain long enough to say hello and assure his friend that he wasn't angry with her, then virtually drove him out of the room at sword point with instructions not to return until he'd bathed, shaved, found clean clothing, had something to eat and had a minimum of six hours sleep. Meekly he did as he was told, spurred by the weak yet incredibly welcome sound of Daine laughing, detouring only to go down to the stables and personally assure Cloud and Spots that she was going to be all right and check that the pair were none the worse for the desperate race to get here.

Staggering with exhaustion now, he somehow made it through a bath and ate something – he wasn't sure what – before collapsing full length on his bed. Despite his weariness, he was smiling as he fell asleep, for the first time in weeks; Daine was going to be all right. And tomorrow he had an appointment with an up and coming court artist by the name of Volney Rain, who wouldn't ask any questions about why exactly Numair wanted a portrait of his student. It wasn't much, but it was something. His smile carried over into his dreams, and for once he slept without guilt.

* * *

At the beginning of March, things took a dramatic turn for the worse. By now Numair had reached that horrible stage of exhaustion when he was quite literally too tired to sleep; sprawled limply in his bedroll, he stared upwards through the branches of the tree they were camping under, his eyes itching with weariness. They had been on the road constantly since Daine's recovery from the fever that had so nearly killed her, racing from one crisis to another; it was hard to complain, since the Own and the Riders were doing the same thing, but... he was exhausted. Rolling over, he tried in vain to find a comfortable position, knowing that if he didn't get some real sleep soon he was going to lose it. He'd been irritable for days now; so had Daine, who was almost as tired as he was. It was surely only a matter of time before they really started fighting, and that would probably finish him off.

He wasn't the only one having problems sleeping tonight, it seemed. He could hear Daine fidgeting in her sleep, even on the other side of the fire, the faint rustles occasionally punctuated by a muffled protest from a sleepy dragon – evidently Kitten didn't appreciate being disturbed. Finally Daine sat up abruptly with a sharp intake of breath; he heard her whisper, "Oh, no."

"Daine?" he asked, his voice heavy with weariness. "What is it?"

"Oh, did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"No, I was awake. Can't sleep," he said briefly, sitting up and rubbing his face. "What's the matter?"

Her eyes slid away from him. "Nothing."

"Daine." The one word was all the rebuke he needed to give her; she'd never been able to lie to him.

"You're not going to like it," she warned unsteadily.

Numair laughed shortly. "I haven't liked anything much for months. Tell me."

"Stormwings," she said finally. "A lot of them – maybe a hundred or so."

His weariness was abruptly forgotten as he shoved his bedding aside. "Where?"

"Moving away from us," Daine said hurriedly. "I didn't mean that. They're not attacking. But..." She hesitated, and he frowned slightly. It took a lot to worry Daine; anything that had her this unnerved was going to be very bad indeed. "I think I recognised one of them," she said finally, looking at him.

He blinked slowly, processing this. Meeting her eyes – a habit he had been trying to break himself of for some time now; too risky – his frown deepened; if he didn't know better, he would say she was frightened. Then it hit him; there was only one Stormwing whose identity would affect her like this. "Shakith's tears," he half-whispered. "It's Ozorne, isn't it."

She nodded miserably, hugging her knees under her chin, and he rested his head in his hands for a moment as his throat closed. This just wasn't fair. He'd thought it was over. He hadn't had a nightmare for months; he'd thought that he had managed to put it behind him again. "It was supposed to be over," he whispered.

"Numair?" Daine asked uncertainly, and he realised he had spoken aloud. Summoning a smile was beyond him at the moment, but he managed to smooth his expression.

"Sorry. Talking to myself again." _It was supposed to be over! _Even if Rikash and the others had failed to catch up with Ozorne, he'd assumed that the gods would have finished what they had started and seen to it that the former emperor was removed. _Damn you, it was supposed to be over! _Shaking his head slowly, he sighed, too tired to even be angry any more. Looking up, he met Daine's eyes and saw that he wasn't the only one who was upset by this. Dredging up every scrap of effort, he managed to smile. "Well, nobody can say our lives are dull," he said lightly. "I know I don't need to ask, but... you are _sure _it's him?"

She nodded. "Oh, yes. He makes my skin crawl." He noticed that she was rubbing her arms as though she'd meant it literally.

"Are you cold?"

"Not that kind of cold," she admitted after a moment. "I... I thought he was dead."

"So did I, magelet," he replied quietly. "No such luck, it seems." After a moment he took a deep breath. "I might as well get the fire going again and find us some breakfast. I'm not going to be able to sleep now."

"Me neither," she agreed shakily, watching in silence as he relit the fire. Finding that he wasn't really hungry, he asked if she wanted anything to eat; when she shook her head, he set tea to brew and sat staring into the flames, wondering if he would ever be free of these old ghosts that haunted him. There was movement behind him, and Daine came to sit next to him; automatically he put his arm around her shoulders and let her lean against him. At any other time that would have been a mistake, would have set his pulse racing and left him struggling to control himself, but right now he just wanted the simple comfort of his best friend's touch. Only the two of them could fully appreciate what Ozorne's return might mean; nobody else would completely understand.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly. Kitten came to sit at their feet; he moved slightly so that his leg touched Daine's, so the dragon could lean against them both at the same time.

"I don't know. I think so. What about you?"

"I don't know, either." They sat quietly for a few minutes, not speaking. It was a restful silence, of the kind Numair had sorely missed. No hidden tensions this time, no secrets, no awkwardness. He wasn't thinking of anything but the reassurance of her presence. "He's just another Stormwing, Daine," he said finally. "He'll die as easily as any other. We'll be all right."

She looked up at him, searching his face for a moment, then smiled. "Has anyone _ever _said our lives were dull?"

He smiled back at her. "I don't think so." Reluctantly he took his arm from around her shoulders, but he stayed sitting where he was, so that they were still touching. What he'd said to her was true in more ways than one; they would be all right.

* * *

Sometimes Numair wondered why he'd finally fallen for Daine, out of all the women who had shared his life. He thought about the most eligible women of the court; certainly they were more conventionally beautiful than she was, but that wasn't the same as being attractive. Anyway, they all tended to look the same, since they followed current fashions with a dedication that he had never understood. Even the clever ones seemed to have lost the ability to have an actual honest conversation; all of them had long ago mastered the art of being witty, charming and lovely but none of them seemed to have grasped the knack of being interesting or intelligent.

And then there was Daine. There was no single thing about her he could pick out and say, 'That's why'. He wasn't even entirely sure why she was beautiful. Studying her now – he'd learned the skill of looking at a woman without appearing to do any such thing a long time ago – he considered it as if it were some complex problem in a book, and eventually concluded that it was because she wasn't trying. She didn't care what was currently in fashion – he very much doubted she knew – and wore clothes that were practical and that she liked the colour and fit of, with no other motivation. The same with cosmetics; she occasionally wore them, but very understated, enhancing what was already there without trying to add to it. It was an honest, natural beauty, and it stood out in sharp contrast to the artificial attempts of most other women. More than that, he knew, she had no idea just how lovely she looked.

It wasn't just her looks, either. Alone of all the people he knew, no matter their age, gender or rank, Numair had never been bored or lost for words when talking to her; more than that, he'd never had to pretend. With her, he was free to be himself; even if he wandered into the esoteric, rather than pretend to understand or get bored and walk off she'd just poke him in the ribs and gently remind him to focus. He valued that about her more than anything; she understood him well enough that she wasn't afraid of him. He hadn't realised until he met her just how lonely he had been. And he'd admired her incredible strength and courage from the first; she would never back away from anything, no matter the circumstances, and was one of the bravest people he had ever known. She was far more intelligent than she herself believed, and had a streak of practical common sense that helped keep him grounded.

He knew her value to him, but what could he offer her? That was the question that haunted him whenever he stopped to think, and it was one he had never been able to puzzle out an acceptable answer to. Despite all Numair's power and status, he was surprisingly insecure at heart, and often uncertain of his value. The best he had been able to come up with was that he accepted Daine and all her strange magic without reservation or fear, and that he tried very hard to be whatever she needed at any given moment. More often than not he failed miserably and said or did the wrong thing, but he tried. It wasn't much, but it was all he had.

At the moment he was brooding over the same question to avoid thinking about the date. It was his thirtieth birthday today, and he wasn't happy about it. Moodily stirring the fire to life, he set a kettle of tea to brew; it was barely dawn, but he couldn't sleep – again. At least they were out on the road ('they' in this case consisting of himself, Daine, Kitten and Tkaa); his friends meant well and he loved them all dearly, but one more joke about his advancing age and he was going to punch someone's teeth down their throat.

Numair had liked being twenty-something. It was a nice vague age where nobody expected any sort of responsibility. By the time you reached thirty, people expected you to settle down and do something with your life; he liked his life the way it was, most of the time. As for settling down, well, that wasn't an option. That was the main reason for his depressed mood; the fourteen year age gap between himself and Daine seemed even bigger at thirty than it had at twenty nine. She was further away from him than ever. He stared morosely into the flames, remembering mournfully that when he was sixteen thirty had seemed ancient. Was that how she saw him?

It didn't help that the stress and exertion of the past few months had actually left him looking quite a bit older than thirty. Numair wasn't as vain as rumour said – it took him so long to get ready for formal occasions purely because he got distracted thinking about various things and ran out of time – but he was dismally aware that he could pass for close to forty at the moment. Stress and lack of sleep had etched lines into his face and white hairs were starting to thread their way through the black; this was extremely depressing, as was the fact that the situation was only going to get worse.

He tried to console himself with the knowledge that once this was over and he had a chance to rest and sleep properly, at least some of the damage would repair itself and he might start resembling his true age again; the problem was that he had no way of knowing when that would be. Certainly there were still months if not years of fighting still ahead, and his personal problems definitely weren't going to go away in a hurry. The best he could hope for was to grow used to it enough that he could at least sleep through the night, developing an immunity to his dreams.

Numair's brooding was cut short in spectacular fashion. Daine jerked awake suddenly, assorted animals scattering in all directions; she had just enough time to yell a warning before they were under attack by some sort of flying ape-things. Caught off guard, the little camp was thrown into uproar, with panicking horses, a shrieking dragon, two half-asleep humans and a basilisk attempting to fend off the assault. To make matters worse, this group of immortals had a Stormwing with them, and a smart one; it was currently hovering out of bowshot and using magic against them.

He'd never had much chance to learn about Stormwing magic. When the first bolt smacked to earth only a foot away from him, he decided that he didn't want to see it any closer, and hastily attempted to shield the site; across the campfire, Daine's hands were almost a blur as she balanced on one knee, barely pausing to aim between arrows, and every so often Tkaa's strange rock-spell could be heard faintly above the noise.

Black fire streaked from Numair's hand towards the Stormwing; covering everyone from magical attack was using too much of his power. His Gift splintered against a shield, and he gritted his teeth; this Stormwing had fought mages before, it seemed. _Great. Now what? _He was already tired. Almost without thinking, he set one of the flying ape-monsters on fire as another half-stone immortal crashed to the ground nearby. It wasn't going to work; there were simply too many of them. Steeling himself, he drew more deeply on his magic, until the air around him crackled with it.

His companions recognised the signs; Daine was standing now, moving a step between each arrow, circling around the fire towards him. The horses had retreated under the trees and were snapping at anything that came too close. Tkaa and Kitten were on his other side; his skin twitching with the effort of holding back, Numair waited until everyone was out of his line of sight and most of their attackers were directly in front of him, then he let go.

Power left him in a flood, and he collapsed to one knee, shaking. His nose had started to bleed, a sure sign that he had over-exerted himself. But it had worked; instead of screaming immortals, the air was now filled with ash. Just as messy, but a lot quieter. He'd even managed to smash the Stormwing's shield; the wounded immortal was attempting to fly away now, until Daine shot it. Feeling vaguely pleased with himself, Numair took stock; he wasn't wounded, nosebleed notwithstanding, so that was something. On the other hand, he was feeling light headed; that had been more power than he could really afford to expend all at once. Wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve, on the basis that his shirt was ruined anyway, he sat down with his back against a tree and quietly let himself lose consciousness for a little while.

* * *

When Numair opened his eyes again it was full daylight and the ash and smoke that had filled the air had cleared; the fire was burning merrily, and he could smell bacon, which explained why Kitten was crouched about an inch from the pan that Daine was guarding. Aside from a mild headache, he felt fairly good; someone – presumably Daine – had even managed to clean most of the blood from his face, although his shirt was definitely a lost cause. He stretched stiffly and got up, steadying himself against the tree; Daine glanced up from her cooking.

"Happy birthday, Numair," she told him sarcastically. Despite his earlier depression over his age, he still felt pleased that she had remembered.

"Thank you."

"You look terrible."

"You say the sweetest things." He rubbed his eyes. "How long was I out for?"

"About an hour, maybe less."

That wasn't so bad. He examined himself; not completely drained this time, which was nice, although he'd have to be careful about how he used his Gift for a day or two. "I don't suppose you bought me a clean shirt as a present?"

"Sorry, no," she replied, smiling as she looked him over. "You're terribly hard on clothes these days."

He dragged his pack over to the fire and sat down, hunting through it for something else to wear. "We both are. I needed to update my wardrobe anyway. Maybe I should get some shirts that are already the colour of blood. Or mud. Or ash. Or whatever that stuff was that those snake-things spat at us last month."

She grimaced. "Don't remind me. That was my favourite shirt." It had been his favourite, too, a blue that almost exactly matched her eyes. Since he'd mentioned it in Carthak, she seemed to wear blue more often. _No, Numair. Don't start trying to find significant meaning in everything she says or does. That way madness lies. _Pushing the thought away, he eventually unearthed a shirt that wasn't exactly clean but was a great improvement over the one he was wearing; being on the road so often didn't leave many choices.

"So how are you enjoying being thirty, so far?"

He smiled wryly. "I'm wondering if I'll make it to thirty one."

* * *

_The end of the unicorn fever incident (which deserved a hell of a lot more coverage than TP gave it) and the creation of Numair's focus. Silly man. Alanna's getting very suspicious, too; the problem is that everything Numair says is true and reasonable. There's still no proof of anything. This is almost the last time we return to the whole 'pack' thing, I promise! I can't help it, I adore it.  
_

_And Ozzie's back. Daine mentions that he showed up in the spring; I think she says it to Rikash. I chose not to let Numair and Daine meet him; I'm pretty sure they'd both go berserk and try everything imaginable to kill him. Which would have made it a much shorter book. I did, however, use the chance to sneak some more fluff in._

_I have no idea when Numair's birthday is. He's almost thirty when they go to Carthak in the autumn, and he's thirty by Midsummer. I stuck it in here because it gave me an excuse to give him more things to brood about, to be honest! Poor man, I'm so mean to him. Lots more introspection, but he really needs to work this out. He does eventually stop thinking quite so much. I added some gratuitous action to balance things out a little._

_Next chapter we have Beltane – come on, this is a story about relationships, you thought I'd miss out something so painfully close to Valentine's Day? More angst awaits! Plus a brief mention of Perin, but don't get excited, he doesn't get much screen time. Then we move on to Midsummer and return to the canon storyline._

_**Loten.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_I'm back at last! After more than a month with no laptop! I've put my fics on a flash drive now to ensure that this never happens again. I missed you guys, you know. Just for all of you, I managed to squeeze Lindhall into this chapter, albeit very briefly. We also have some wyverns, before finally returning to canon.

* * *

_

Numair had never liked Beltane much. He had nothing against the idea, and generally spent the festival mercilessly teasing his friends, but most of it was an act; it was impossible not to feel lonely on this particular night, watching so many long-established couples celebrating their relationships. Not that he couldn't have had company, of course; there had always been women who would have fought one another for the privilege of bringing in the May with him. He remembered Daine's first Beltane in Tortall; she'd asked why he was on his own, and he'd made a joke of it, laughing as he explained about greenwood marriages and not wanting to be tied to any woman for a year and a day.

Now he sat disconsolately watching the bonfires, unnoticed by most of the gathering. His friends were all so much in love that it hurt to watch them. It was this time of year that really brought home to him how empty his life was sometimes and made him realise how shallow and meaningless his relationships were; usually it never bothered him for long, but now it was hurting. Numair had considered just getting drunk, but nothing good ever came of that; he only got into fights with his friends, and it wouldn't help anyway. He watched George and Alanna, who were celebrating here instead of at the Swoop this year, laughing and teasing one another; beyond them, on the far side of the fire, he could see Jon and Thayet holding hands. That was what he wanted, and it seemed very unlikely that he would ever get it.

He didn't know where Daine was at this moment, and was trying not to find out. One of her young suitors was her escort tonight, not him, and he didn't want to know where they were or what they were doing. This was painful enough without having to face that. She could look after herself. Mostly hidden in the shadows, he continued watching the celebrations wistfully, knowing that he should have stayed in his rooms. He was only tormenting himself.

Later in the evening he was alone by the bonfires, which were now burning down and beginning to flicker and smoulder as they died. One by one the various couples had stolen off into the woods to continue the celebrations, and he was the only one left now – alone. His eyes half-closed, Numair watched the dying fires, musing to himself; this was a festival night, when gods and goddesses walked the earth. One of them had presumably sired Daine on such a night. _A demigoddess, Numair. Talk about shooting for the moon. You couldn't have chosen a woman further beyond your reach. _

It wasn't a subject he had discussed with Daine, although he had wanted to. She had steadfastly refused to talk about it, claiming not to believe the Banjiku. He was certain that others had confirmed what they had said and he was certain that she was lying when she said she didn't believe it; he was reasonably certain that she knew more than she was telling him. Still, it was her decision, and he could understand that it made her uncomfortable to consider that she might not be completely human. _Being human isn't such a great thing. You're probably luckier than we are, magelet._

As if thinking of her had somehow called her to him, he heard her voice. "There you are, Numair. I've been looking for you."

"Why, what have I done?" he asked automatically, looking up. Four months since Midwinter, and the sight of her still made his chest tighten and his pulse accelerate. She was dressed up tonight, dark gray breeches and a blue tunic embroidered with silver thread, and wearing the sapphire jewellery he had given her; she looked beautiful, and utterly unattainable as she grinned down at him.

"Nothing, as far as I know. Guilty conscience?" she asked lightly, sitting next to him.

"Always." He scooted over to give her a little more space; it was always worse when she touched him. "Did you want something?"

"I don't need a reason to want to see you, surely. No, I was just wondering where you were; I thought you'd be following us around scowling."

"Us?" he asked, knowing exactly who she meant.

"Me and Perin."

He hadn't wanted to know the boy's name. "Perin and me," he corrected absently, before spotting her grin and giving her a reproving look as he realised she was baiting him. _Am I that predictable? _Shaking his head, he shrugged. "I'm trying to be less overprotective. I thought that's what you wanted."

"So did I," she muttered. "I maybe could've done with a scowling black robe tonight, though."

"Why, what happened?" Numair asked sharply.

"Relax. Nothing bad. Nothing I couldn't deal with. It's just... I don't know." She sighed. "Maybe Buri's right. Men are pigs."

"Thank you."

She blushed. "Sorry. I didn't mean you."

"Don't apologise," he told her morosely. "She was right. We are." He really did want a drink, if only to try and stop himself imagining what he'd like to do to this Perin boy. "I do still dimly remember being a teenager, you know, as long ago as it was."

Daine looked at him. "But when a woman said no, you accepted it, right? You didn't... keep trying?"

"Never." There wasn't much Numair could be proud of in his life, but he at least had that much. "I could turn him into something, if you like," he offered. _A twitching, bleeding heap on the floor would be favourite. _

She smiled. "No, it's okay. He didn't hurt me or anything. And he did eventually back off. It's just... annoying." They sat quietly for a few moments before she changed the subject. "You're in a lovely mood tonight. Have you been drinking?"

"No, actually, I haven't."

"Numair..." She hesitated. "Is everything... all right? You've been acting fair strange recently. And it feels like there's something you're not telling me."

He bit his lip, wondering how much to tell her. Definitely not the truth, nor any variation of it; but she would know if he lied outright, and it would hurt her. He wanted to avoid that at all costs. "It's lots of things, magelet. Nothing you've done, I promise." _Not deliberately, anyway._

After a moment he turned to look at her; it might make his chest ache with longing when he saw her, but she was still his best friend. He owed her something. And there were lots of things bothering him, some of which were safe to tell her. "Well... I'm not sure I've really recovered from Carthak yet, for a start. You know I still have nightmares sometimes, especially now we know Ozorne's back. And the barrier falling, everyone assuming I'd know what to do. Since before the snow melted, we've been on the move, fighting all the time. I don't think I've ever been so tired. I don't like killing things anyway, you know that. I'm not sleeping well. Everything's just getting to me, that's all. I'm not ready to talk about some of it," he added to be on the safe side. She knew him well enough to see that he was leaving something out.

She searched his eyes for a moment, then relaxed and nodded slowly, accepting it. "Okay. I s'pose that's fair enough," she added with a hint of a smile. "I guess we all have plenty to worry about these days." The night breeze made her shiver. "Come on, it's cold out here. And there's no stars to watch tonight."

He returned her smile, because he couldn't _not _smile. Even now, she could still ease his pain, even without knowing that she was the cause of most of it. "Are _you_ going to start being overprotective of _me_ now?" he asked lightly, standing and following her back towards the palace.

Daine snorted. "Someone has to. You're terrible at looking after yourself."

* * *

Once again, the four of them – two humans (or mostly humans), a dragon and a basilisk – were on the road. And once again, Numair was woken from a rare chance to get some sleep; this time by a familiar itch against his senses as someone tried to contact him magically. At least it was warm, he mused sleepily as he sat up; it was only a few days until Midsummer, after all. Stifling a yawn, he opened his hand and spoke into the ball of black flame hovering above his palm. "What could you possibly want right now?"

"Good evening, Numair."

Startled to be hearing Lindhall's voice, it took him a moment to respond. "Lindhall, it's barely after sundown. I've been asleep for about ten minutes. Much as I like talking to you... what could you possibly want right now?"

"I know. I'm sorry to disturb you, but this is important. We need you all at Port Legann as soon as you can get there."

"Oh, gods. What now?" he asked wearily, his shoulders slumping.

"Wyverns again."

_Oh, good. _The wyverns had been circling and attacking on and off for months, along with just about every other monster in existence. "Why us, then? I've been expressly forbidden to 'waste my Gift' on wyverns," he remarked dryly, remembering all too well the humiliating public scolding he had received from Jonathan last month.

"Well, that's why I'm calling you, rather than His Majesty. I have an idea. Are you awake enough to discuss this, or shall I just give in and explain it all to you?"

He grinned. "Preferably in words of one syllable. No, I'm awake now; you've roused my curiosity. Which I suspect was the idea. What's your plan?"

"Wyverns are a subspecies of dragon, more or less, regardless of how they evolved. They're clearly inferior, you told me that yourself last month. They're not as strong or as powerful, if you overlook the poisonous breath. They can't resist your Gift the way you tell me a dragon can. So..." Lindhall left it hanging, knowing his former pupil well. Even mostly asleep, Numair's mind was working fairly efficiently; he followed his teacher's line of thought.

"Kitten? You really think that will work?"

"There's no reason why it shouldn't."

"Well, no, if she was older. A dragon can easily face down a wyvern, you're right about that. But Kit's just an infant still."

"She's far more advanced than her age suggests, Numair, you told me that yourself." Lindhall sounded tired. "His Majesty believes it is worth a try."

"When are you going to relax and start calling him Jon like the rest of us do?" he asked wryly.

"Numair, don't change the subject, please. Nobody's had enough sleep recently."

"You're right. Sorry. Hold on a moment." He turned from the ball of black fire and looked around the darkened campsite at his sleeping companions. "Tkaa?" he called softly. The basilisk stirred and uncurled, his eyes gleaming faintly in the dimness, moving to join him.

"Did you want something?"

"Not me, the king. Do you think Kitten would be able to confront a wyvern?"

"More than one," Lindhall's voice interjected. "There are at least three that we have seen." Numair waved a hand impatiently, watching the basilisk.

Tkaa tilted his head to one side, considering. "Dragons can dominate wyverns, usually with ease," the immortal said slowly in his whispery voice. "It is not a question of magic, but of willpower and strength of mind. Skysong is far more advanced than other hatchlings of her age, and from what I have observed in the past few years she is every bit as stubborn as the humans who are raising her," he added dryly.

Numair grinned, barely stopping himself from joining in with Lindhall's soft laughter. "So you think it is possible?"

"Perhaps," Tkaa agreed. "With encouragement from yourself and Daine, and with myself to talk her through it. I take it we are about to move once more, then?"

"It seems so," he agreed. "All right, Lindhall. Tell Jon we're on our way." He closed his hand, snuffing out the spell, and bit back another yawn. "Daine?" he called softly. "Rise and shine, magelet."

His only immediate response was a muffled groan, making him smile; she wasn't a morning person any more than he was. Eventually she spoke, her voice almost a growl. "Numair, it's still dark, and nothing's attacking us. Do you want snakes in your bedroll again?"

"I warned you what would happen if you ever did that again, and I meant it," he replied mildly. "And this wasn't my idea. We have received a royal summons; Jon wants us in Port Legann as soon as we can get there."

It took them all night to get there. Six months ago it would have taken two hours. The horses were as exhausted as their riders; the journey was painful. They spent most of the trek discussing Lindhall's plan; Daine wasn't convinced that it would work, and was clearly worried about the effect it would have on Kitten to try. Kitten herself, according to Tkaa, was cheerfully enthusiastic about wanting to try; she wanted to help. So many months spent following Daine and Numair around as they spent their strength battling the enemy had been upsetting for the dragonet, who had apparently picked up a dislike of being helpless in addition to stubbornness from her human family.

* * *

Now the odd little group stood on the walls in a knot, watched at some distance by a number of worried soldiers and by Jon himself. Numair had insisted on the distance, mostly because they were going to look very stupid if this didn't work. Kitten crouched on the wall with her head slightly to one side, staring at the distant specks of the approaching wyverns; Tkaa stood directly behind her with a paw on her back, speaking to her silently. Daine and Numair flanked her, more for moral support than anything else.

"They're coming," Daine said distantly. Numair felt the familiar prickle of her magic slide across his skin and gave her a warning look over Kitten's head.

"If I'm not allowed to interfere, neither are you." Scowling, she subsided, and they watched as the wyverns drew closer and prepared to attack. Kitten lifted her head, her scales glittering, and opened her mouth, the silver fangs of an immortal gleaming in the sunlight; taking a deep breath, she shrieked, a rising note of surprisingly imperious defiance. The cry had odd harmonics and seemed to echo; the oncoming wyverns stopped in midair as though they had hit an invisible wall, voicing shrill whistles of what seemed to be confusion and circling uncertainly.

"That was easy," Daine muttered.

"Too easy," Numair agreed. "They weren't expecting a dragon. In a moment they'll realise how young she is and start pushing. That's when it gets difficult."

"And dangerous?"

"No," he replied quietly. She looked at him, clearly suspecting him of lying to preserve her feelings, and he quirked an eyebrow. "If the wyverns defy her and get too close, they'll die. You have that overgrown tree branch you call a bow with you. Tkaa's song works on wyverns. And I..." He lifted a hand that sparkled with black flame and let it fade. "Stop worrying so much. I keep telling you, that's my job." Looking away before the eye contact took him back where he wasn't willing to go, Numair focused on the approaching wyverns once more as Kitten screeched again.

* * *

It took a moment for Numair to be sure he wasn't hallucinating. No, he'd been right; the monster he'd just blasted into pieces was now several smaller monsters. Damn. He'd been exhausted before the report had come to Legann, exhausted before he'd even set out, and now he was facing something he'd never seen before and didn't know how to kill. It was no comfort at all to know that Daine was in the same position; quite the reverse, in fact.

The Skinners charged them and he raised a hand, gritting his teeth with the strain as he caught them in fire and managed to lift them; the sense of them felt wrong, alien, and they shook off the spell with dismaying ease. He didn't have enough power left to waste on failures.

"I hope the owner of this orchard forgives me," he muttered, barely aware of what he was saying as he raised both hands and cast. More energy than he could really afford rushed from him, splitting the earth open, and he jogged wearily over towards the hole created as the Skinners fell into it. Daine followed him, and he automatically provided an explanation; "If I can seal them into the earth, that may be the end of it. I certainly hope so."

Stumbling to a halt, he continued absently, "I _hate _simply blasting them with raw power like this. There is always a spell to uncreate anything, although the consequences may be – " They stared down into the crack in the ground. "– Oh, dear," he ended lamely; not the words that had first sprung to mind. The Skinners were climbing out; apparently they weren't elementals as he'd half-hoped. What they actually were, he had no idea.

Pulling Daine back out of the way, he shouted another spell, making the air scream. The earth shook beneath them, sending them both sprawling, and the crack sealed shut as the soil caved in. Power left him in a flood, and Daine had to help him stand. "Please Goddess, please Mithros, let that stop them," he whispered, barely aware that he was speaking aloud. If it _didn't _stop them, he was out of options; he had no idea what to try next and was running out of power. "Grant a boon on Midsummer's Day – "

She spun, hearing something, and shouted his name. Too tired to swear now, he turned wearily to see the hands of one of the Skinners clawing through the earth. Nothing left to try; he cried out in Old Thak, using one of the only spells that was guaranteed to work. It did; the Skinner dissolved, and he turned to repeat it with another. The problem was that he didn't have enough strength left to do the same to all of them. He didn't have enough strength left to reach his horse, either. Once he'd used the last of his Gift, he would collapse, and these things would kill him. Probably Daine, too; he knew she wouldn't leave him.

Five of the things leaped from the ground at once, and Numair knew he couldn't stop them all. Another one, perhaps two, and the remaining three would get them. Not knowing what else to do, he reached for her, and the air turned white. Hands reached from empty air to grab her, and his mind gave up trying to explain it rationally. "No!" He had no idea if he'd said it aloud or inside his head, and didn't much care. Ignoring the approaching Skinners, ignoring the fact that he was moments from passing out, he wrapped his arms around her and hung on. Pain ripped at him, unbearable in its intensity, and darkness fell.

* * *

_Oh, what fun Numair is having. There you are, folks, that was Perin's one and only mention in this story; much as I would like to bash him on principle for not being Numair, I resisted the urge, and he's just a teenage boy as far as I'm concerned. He didn't hurt Daine, didn't really try, and she's not angry – more irritated. End of drama. Frankly I don't think Perin's important enough to get any more screen time than that. It did give me a reason to extend Numair's Beltane angst, however. He ought to be pleased that Daine's angry with her suitor, but he's not paying attention. Being single on Beltane and surrounded by loving couples can't be fun, can it?_

_The scenes with the wyverns were a last-minute addition. I know people wanted to see Lindhall; I couldn't quite manage that, but I did give you his voice._

_Then there's a bit of a jump before we're suddenly in the middle of the fight with the Skinners. I know that's a bit odd. I did try and write the link from the book, but to be brutally honest it just wasn't very interesting to read. Part of the canon material is very briefly from Numair's point of view anyway, just before the report of the Skinners comes in. And when they set out after the Skinners, all Numair is really doing is sitting waiting for Daine and wondering what happened to all the trees. I didn't find it interesting to read, so I deleted it and moved on to the action._

_We're back in canon territory now at Midsummer, but there's very little about what Numair is doing until they set out towards the Dragonlands, so the next few chapters are still almost all from my own head. This chapter was shorter, but this was a good place to stop. Next time, Numair wakes up and learns how weird his life has just become, and is reminded of some unpleasant facts about immortals. He also meets lots of new... er, people?_

_Incidentally, the results from the Knighthood of Ficship contest are in. Teacher got fourth place, and Power got second! Thank you all so very much for nominating the two stories and voting for them. It means a great deal to me; you don't know how much. (Also, I think Divine Intervention and Lost & Found are better writing; maybe I'll win next time, eh?)_

_**Loten.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Silly me, I neglected to realise that anyone who responded to my author's note (the original Chapter Four) wouldn't be able to review the last update, except anonymously. Luckily you guys are smarter than I am, and worked it out._

_Incidentally, all four of my stories have been recategorised now and can be found under "Immortals, Tamora Pierce". I have no idea why the powers that be decided to split her category up, but until everyone gets caught up it's going to be very confusing. (Also there's three Immortals categories now and lots of people have put their stories in the wrong one... Oy...)_

_Anyway, onwards we go. Lots of new faces in this one, and Numair starts to realise just how much trouble he's in. He's not entirely alone, though, he does have allies... of a sort...

* * *

_

He woke up, which was a surprise in itself. Leaden exhaustion held him still long enough for reason to kick in, and he stayed motionless as he tried to work out where he was and what had happened. Was he dead? He ached all over, fiercely, as if he'd been beaten badly, so probably not; he recognised the aftermath of severe pain, and something else. Never mind now. He was exhausted; hardly surprising, as his Gift had been completely drained – again. Wherever he was, it was cool and dark and he was in bed; that was encouraging. The air smelled strange, but clean, and he couldn't hear anyone else in the room. Gingerly he risked opening his eyes a slit.

The room was clean and white and neutral. Looking around as best he could without moving his head, he saw nothing to indicate where he was; he didn't recognise anything. There was the bed, and a table against one wall, and a faint glow outlining the window and the door, nothing else. He tried to lift his head, and the ache became pain intense enough that he passed out once more.

At one point a woman's voice reached him from a long way away; at first he thought he recognised it, but after a moment decided he had been mistaken. Whoever she was, she was telling him that it was all right, that the Skinners had been destroyed, that Daine was safe. He had no reason to disbelieve her, and made no attempt to fight it as the darkness dragged him under again.

* * *

When Numair woke up again his head was clearer and he remembered not to move just in time. Carefully opening his eyes, he saw that it was daylight outside and wondered how long he'd been unconscious and what exactly had happened. Closing his eyes once more, he assessed himself; he still hurt, but could probably move a little if he was careful.

There was a sense of movement in the air and a weight settled on the end of his bed, which was confusing since he had been alone in the room a moment ago and the door was still closed. Starting to open his eyes, Numair froze as a familiar voice spoke in his mind. –_Keep still and listen to me. Don't speak aloud. For the moment it's best for you if nobody else realises you're awake; there are things I need to tell you._–

_'What's going on?'_

–_What do you remember?_–

Numair frowned and instantly regretted it. He remembered the Skinners, and the strange white light that had brought him and Daine... somewhere else... and a woman's voice telling him that it was all right...

–_I dealt with the Skinners. They're not your problem, and from your point of view they are the least of your worries right now._– The badger sounded almost concerned, which was a very bad sign.

_'What...'_

–_Just listen. You're in the Divine Realms._–

"What?" he managed after a moment; not his most intelligent response ever, but he couldn't think of anything to say. The realms of the gods? Maybe he was still unconscious, he thought wildly, or maybe he was dead after all and this was some bizarre vision in his final moments.

–_I said don't speak aloud!_– The weight on the end of the bed moved to his chest, and he smelled the musk of the animal god.

_'Sorry. I don't understand.'_

–_Daine's parents were watching the two of you. It was Midsummer when you met the Skinners; certain beings can pass between the Realms on festival days. They pulled Daine here when they saw you couldn't defeat them, and you invited yourself along,_– the badger explained, a touch of humour threading through the last remark before he continued speaking. –_That wasn't part of the plan, but you're here now._–

Numair processed this, slowly. It was a lot to take in all at once, especially as he hurt all over and wanted to burrow back into the cool darkness again. _'Daine's parents?'_

–_Her father is Weiryn, god of the hunt. He petitioned the Great Gods when her mother Sarra died; she now lives with him as the Green Lady, a minor goddess of healing and childbirth._– The badger kindly paused to allow Numair time to wrap his mind around this and try to remember if he knew anything about Weiryn; the name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't recall anything else.

_'All right,' _he managed finally. It wasn't all right, really, and it would take him a long time and a great deal of thought to process all the potential consequences of this knowledge, but it could wait. _'Why do you need to tell me this before they know I'm awake?'_

–_Mortals,_– the badger growled, exasperated. –_Let me spell it out for you. You are in the house of Daine's parents. They didn't intend for you to be here. They are gods and can therefore read your thoughts – as can I._–

Slow, cold horror slid down Numair's spine. No. Oh, damn. This didn't seem fair, somehow. Closing his eyes more tightly, he decided that maybe being skinned alive might be better than trying to face angry parents who could read minds and therefore knew exactly how he felt about their daughter. _Maybe I should just kill myself now._

–_Calm down,_– the badger told him quietly. –_It won't be as bad as you think. Had they wanted you dead, you would not have survived the passage between the Realms. But you need to be very careful, Numair._– He wasn't sure the animal god had ever used his name before. –_Daine's presence will protect you to some extent; she won't allow you to be hurt. Nonetheless, try not to provoke her parents, particularly Weiryn. He doesn't like mortals much anyway. Try to think about something apart from Daine as much as possible, for a change,_– he added with some amusement.

_'How long have you known?'_

–_Since you arrived here. But I suspected long before that. I told you years ago, I've been watching you closely for some time._–

_'Why are you helping me, then?'_

–_You at least deserved some warning. And you cannot help the way you feel. You have behaved admirably under the circumstances; I doubt any other mortal could have restrained themselves as long as you have. Although I must say I don't know why you're doing so; I will never understand you two-leggers. I like you, mage; when you die, it should be for a better reason than because Weiryn heard one of your fantasies._–

Despite the state he was in, Numair blushed crimson. The badger almost sneezed, and stopped the sound just in time. –_Precisely. You do have a vivid imagination. For your own sake, I suggest you learn to control it._–

_'Thank you for the warning,' _he managed weakly. _'Did I offend one of the Greater Gods without realising? Surely I'm being punished for something.'_

That earned him another almost-sneeze. –_Nonsense. It could be worse. You may have other allies, too. Just remember that everyone you meet here, apart from Daine, can hear your surface thoughts and if they grow curious, can see far deeper into your mind. Be careful, and be prepared to argue your side._ _Now go back to sleep; passage between the Realms has an adverse effect on mortals, and you will need time to recover. We'll talk again._–

* * *

Numair woke up once more, and this time remembered not to move or open his eyes. Slowly memories filtered through the haze of weariness; he was in the Divine Realms, and was likely to be in a lot of trouble. He also wasn't alone in the room; warily he opened one eye a slit and found a fluffy orange and white cat sitting on the bed watching him intently. He opened both eyes, blinking, and returned the look.

–_Hello, mortal. Awake at last?_– a cool female voice said inside his head. About to answer, Numair recalled the badger's warning and decided that discretion was the better part of valour, replying silently.

_'Yes. I assume you are the cat goddess?'_

–_What gave it away?_– she replied sarcastically. –_I am Queenclaw. And you are in trouble._–

_'So I've been told. Whose side are you on?' _he asked cautiously.

–_My own, of course,_– Queenclaw replied indifferently, idly licking a paw and beginning to wash her face. –_But mostly yours, at the moment. You don't seem so bad for a mortal; the badger has been telling me of some of your adventures with Weiryn's daughter. And Weiryn shouldn't have things go his way all the time. If nothing else, this will be entertaining._–

_'So glad to be of assistance,' _he replied wryly, and the cat's whiskers crinkled in what seemed to be a silent laugh as she continued washing, not answering. Silver fire bloomed again at the end of the bed, and another animal god appeared, one whose appearance rendered Numair speechless.

–_This is Broad Foot,_– Queenclaw provided lazily, spreading the toes of one paw and licking between them thoroughly. –_Aren't you going to ask what he is?_–

_'I think I already know,'_ Numair replied slowly, trying not to stare.

–_Really?_– the newcomer said, looking at him sharply. –_How? There are none of your kind where my people live._–

_'A drawing once, in a book of mythological creatures. It was believed that you did not exist. You are the platypus god?'_

–_That's a two-legger word. We are duckmoles._–

_'I see. Forgive me.'_

–_Polite,_– Queenclaw noted, stretching. –_That's a good start. But let's get to what's really important._– Walking up the bed, she swatted his hand imperiously. –_Pet me._–

Trying to hide a smile, with limited success, Numair obeyed. He was still weak and his hand trembled a little as he lifted it, but years of Daine's company had taught him a lot about animals and within a few minutes Queenclaw was purring ecstatically and kneading his leg as he rubbed behind her ears. It seemed he had another ally; possibly two, since Broad Foot was looking at him with an expression that seemed to be amused approval. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, if he was careful.

* * *

The door creaked, and he opened his eyes. He didn't recognise the woman who entered; she had blonde hair and blue eyes, and he couldn't tell how old she was. He could swear he had never laid eyes on her before, yet something about her seemed familiar. "Numair," she said softly; her voice sounded familiar too. This must be Sarra. "How do you feel?"

He tried to answer aloud for the first time; his throat was dry, his voice little more than a whisper, but he had a sarcastic answer and he was going to make it. "Never better." She laughed, and the sense of familiarity increased. Moving to the bed, she helped him sit up a little and held a glass of water to his lips.

"Drink slowly," she warned. As well she had; the water tasted like no water he'd ever drunk, and tingled in his mouth. He swallowed carefully and had a moment where he wasn't sure if he was going to be sick or not; then the nausea faded and some of the pain in his head subsided. Her voice was similar to her daughter's, that was why he recognised it. Now he knew what to look for, he could see that mother and child shared common features, too.

"He's awake, then?" a male voice asked acidly. Numair looked towards the door and stared, rendered speechless for a moment at the sight of a man with antlers.

"You would be Daine's father, I assume?" he managed finally. Not much of a family resemblance; near-hysterical laughter bubbled in his throat and he almost choked, forcing it down. Actually, once you managed to look past the antlers and the greenish tints to the skin, there _were _hints of Daine in the god's features, and their hair was very similar.

"This is Lord Weiryn," Sarra told him quietly. Neither god's expression was easy to read, but he didn't need to be a powerful mage to recognise that they would both prefer it if he wasn't there. "And I am the Green Lady, Sarra."

Mindful of the need to be on his best behaviour, Numair struggled to sit up and bowed as best he could, despite the way it made the room spin. "I'm honoured to meet you both." He had heard of Weiryn, a northern god of the hunt and of wild creatures; he hadn't heard of the Green Lady until the badger mentioned her, but since she was a recent goddess that wasn't surprising.

There was a short silence. Numair cautiously sipped at the glass of water, trying very hard not to think of anything. Finally he gave in and looked up to ask meekly, "Please... how is Daine?" A dangerous topic, no doubt, but he needed to know. And refusing to mention her wasn't going to help him now. The pair exchanged glances; after a moment Sarra looked back at him.

"She's still asleep. She'll be fine."

He breathed out slowly, trying to ignore Weiryn's scowl; he wasn't going to apologise for being worried. "Thank you."

* * *

Numair didn't see his hosts again until the next day. He'd been shown a bathroom and provided with clean clothing; washing and shaving had tired him out, and he'd slept again briefly. So far, things weren't going too badly, he told himself hopefully. Neither of them liked him much, but he hadn't expected them to, under the circumstances. The animal gods seemed to be on his side, which was a comfort. Daine would be all right, as well.

Thinking of her seemed to summon trouble; the door opened again and Sarra looked in. Trying not to flinch, he looked at the goddess uncertainly; after a moment she smiled, and he saw the lines of Daine's grin in her face. "Don't look so nervous. I'm not going to kill you." He summoned a hesitant smile; he'd never felt quite this far out of his depth before. Sarra continued, "Actually, I came to tell you that Daine's about to wake up. You can come and see her _briefly_, if you promise not to tire her or upset her."

"I promise," he replied instantly, standing up and remembering at the last moment that he was still weak and shaky. Steadying himself, he followed her carefully and obeyed the silent signal to stay outside the door, leaning against the wall and waiting his turn as Weiryn entered a few moments later. He did his best not to eavesdrop; this was the first time Daine had met her father, and it should be private. He _was _an intruder, really. Chewing his lip, he listened to the faint murmur of voices, some of the tightness in his chest easing at the sound of Daine speaking; he held out as long as he could, but after only a few minutes he couldn't stop himself moving into the doorway.

"Daine?" He took a breath, relief flooding him as he saw that she was awake and sitting up, apparently not much the worse for this adventure. "You know that the badger destroyed the Skinners, yes?" he asked neutrally, not daring to say anything else in front of this particular audience.

"Ma told me," she replied, smiling at him. "You don't look so good."

Numair couldn't stop himself smiling back in wry amusement. _Less than a minute, and you're insulting me. You're back to your usual self, then. _"I'll survive. Are _you _all right?"

"I hurt a little." She looked between him and Weiryn; after a moment he realised she was comparing their heights, and smothered a laugh hastily to focus on what she had said. For her to be admitting that she hurt at all, she was obviously in pain, as bad as he had been when he first woke up if not worse.

"I am informed that passage between the realms has an adverse effect on mortals," he told her dryly, quoting the badger. Becoming aware of his own condition once more, he leaned against the doorframe, determined not to leave until he was expressly ordered to.

The quote seemed to have summoned him; silver fire blossomed in the middle of the room, and the badger himself appeared. _Why does that never work when I really need it to? _The animal god didn't acknowledge him in any way, which Numair appreciated; he was in enough trouble already.

"Hullo," Daine greeted her guardian, smiling. "So we've you to thank for handling those Skinners?"

"You wouldn't rest until you knew they were dealt with," the badger replied in a low growl that sounded similar to his mental voice, rearing to plant his forepaws next to Daine on the bed. She scratched his ears gently; Numair smiled, watching them. _This has to be the limit. Even Daine won't manage to top this. _His life had finally reached the peak of absolute strangeness, surely; then again, this wasn't the first time he had thought so.

"You are supposed to sit, and stay sat." Realising that Sarra was talking to him, Numair suppressed a flinch; Daine's mother was as good as his own at causing guilty reactions, which hardly seemed fair. She gestured at the wall; Numair blinked as a chair materialised, sending his mind off at a tangent. "Down, Master Salmalín!" He sat down obediently as Daine stared.

"But – Ma, you can't – you never – " she stammered, sounding badly confused. Things were starting to catch up with her, it seemed; he debated whether or not to risk a sympathetic look and decided not to chance it.

"Things are different here," the badger explained quietly. "In the Divine Realms, we gods can shape our surroundings to suit ourselves."

"Sometimes," Weiryn added.

"Wonderful," Daine replied shakily after a moment. She took a breath and relaxed, pushing it aside to think about later; her tone turned more businesslike. "Tell me – how did we come here? The last thing I remember is the Skinners."

Her parents exchanged glances before Weiryn answered. "You were in danger of your life, against a foe you could not fight," the god said finally. "We had meant to bring you only," he added, "but this – _man _– " he glared at Numair, who stared meekly at the floor and fought off a blush "– refused to let go of you. We were forced to bring him as well."

_I didn't know you were trying to save her, _he thought defensively, continuing to study the floor as if it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. _And I didn't really want to stay behind and be skinned alive. _He hadn't had much choice in the matter. If either god heard his thought, they didn't acknowledge it.

Sarra continued, "I just thank the Goddess that you met the Skinners on one of the great holidays, when we _could _pull you through to us. Otherwise you would have been killed. It fair troubles me that no one we've asked has ever heard of those creatures." The Gallan slang made her sound even more like her daughter; Numair's lips twitched as he fought not to smile.

Lights flashed outside the window, distracting them all. Numair frowned; now that he thought about it, that had been happening on and off since he woke up, although he'd had too much on his mind to wonder about it until now. "Oh, dear," Sarra remarked, sounding resigned rather than concerned. "They're still at it." Weiryn opened the drapes, and Numair stood up automatically, reflexively responding to anything strange by getting ready to face it; he'd been fighting for too long.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Sarra glared at him, although her expression was exasperated more than angry; oddly, it reminded him of Alanna. "Will you _sit?_" she snapped at him. "Men! You're so stubborn!"

Biting his tongue to stop himself smiling, Numair decided to push his luck and moved across the room to sit at the end of Daine's bed; the two of them stared outside as waves of colour washed through the sky. It looked like magic on the surface, but Numair could see that it wasn't, or at least no kind that he had ever seen.

"What does it mean?" Daine asked softly; he dared to reach out and squeeze her fingers gently, hoping vainly that nobody else would notice. He had tried to distance himself from her over the last few months, but he'd thought they were both going to die and badly wanted the physical contact to reassure himself; besides, touching another mortal – _well, half mortal, I suppose... _– was comforting in its own way here. Daine continued as he reluctantly let go, "I feel that it means something bad, but it's so beautiful..."

"It means that Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos, is fighting the Great Gods," the badger said unexpectedly; Numair blinked. "That light is her magic and her soldiers, as they attack the barriers between our realm and hers."

"She has been at it since Midwinter," Weiryn added, putting his arm around Sarra. Apparently Midwinter had been a busy time for everyone. "Normally the lights that burn in our sky reflect your mortal wars, but this is far more important."

"Thanks ever so," Numair muttered before he could stop himself. Glancing up to see if his sarcasm would result in divine retribution, he caught Daine's eye and she grinned at him; he returned it a little sheepishly.

"Speaking of war, I never raised _you _to be always fighting and killing," Sarra said reproachfully to her daughter. "That's not woman's work." Numair tried without success to get his mind around the concept of Daine and 'woman's work' and decided to stop before his brain started to bleed out of his ears. It was about as likely as Alanna or Buri turning into mild-mannered housewives. Or any of his female friends, come to that. Although he would love to see their reactions if someone told them what Sarra had just said; preferably from a safe distance, since he suspected it would involve sharp objects.

"It's needful, Ma," Daine replied. He observed with some amusement that the faint trace of Galla in her voice was stronger than he had heard it in years. "You taught me a woman has to know how to defend herself."

"I never!"

"You taught me when you were murdered in your own house," Daine said quietly. Silence filled the room. _Oh, sweetling, _Numair thought sympathetically, wishing he dared hug her or offer any other means of comfort; he laid his hand on her ankle over the blankets instead and smiled as warmly as he dared as Sarra turned away and the badger nuzzled under Daine's arm.

The silence dragged out; Numair decided that a change of subject was in order, and bravely put himself in the line of fire once more. "Sarra, our war in Tortall may seem unimportant to the gods, but not to us. Daine and I must return to it. They need every fighter, and every mage." Daine nodded agreement, closing her eyes; Numair recognised that she was hurting at the same moment Sarra did.

"We'll talk of that later," the goddess said firmly. "You both need to drink a posset, then sleep. It will be a few days before the effects of your passage are over." _Days? _Numair thought in dismay, but there was no point in arguing. He took the cup Sarra handed to him and eyed the contents doubtfully. "Drink," Sarra ordered. He and Daine exchanged glances, bracing themselves; it smelled disgusting. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed quickly and fought not to gag. _I won't ask if you added anything just to make it taste like this._

"Back to bed, sir mage," Sarra ordered him. _Yes, ma'am. _Truthfully, he was very tired himself still. Standing up, Numair began slowly moving towards the door.

"Good night, Daine," he said quietly, although to be honest he had no idea what time of day or night it was. The badger echoed him.

"G'night," she answered drowsily; Numair smiled as he left the room.

* * *

_Poor, poor Numair. Can you imagine anything worse? Not only is he meeting the parents of the young woman he's hopelessly in love with (when the woman in question doesn't know), but they can READ HIS THOUGHTS. They've also been watching him for several years and have seen quite a bit of bad behaviour from our hero... he's got some serious work to do now before they stop disapproving of him. I wonder if he'll succeed? And the only people on his side (so far) have four legs. There's also the slight problem of his now being in what is essentially a different dimension. No pressure, then._

_I am aware that most of you are dying to move on very rapidly to Falling. Well, tough! That's my absolute favourite part of the story as well, but there's a lot to get through before we reach that point. I assure you, you won't be deprived of fluff for very long, but before we get to the cliffs I have to torture Numair some more and there is some actual plot to go through as well. Patience is a virtue!_

_Coming next: Uncomfortable conversations, potentially dangerous arguments, and more confusing meetings._

**_Loten._**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_A few people were surprised that Weiryn and Sarra can read Numair's thoughts. If you remember, the badger was able to read his mind in Wolf-Speaker and answered his questions before he asked them; I figured if an animal god can do that, the human gods can as well. This particular form of torture is actually canon and not just me being evil._

_Incidentally, a lot of people seem to think it was a bad idea for the Tamora Pierce category to be split up the way it has been. If you've not been contacted about it already, drop a message to **Tortallan Renegade** or **Certified Lunatic** or check their profiles; they've set up a petition asking for the change to be reversed. With that said, onwards we go! Be warned, there's a LOT of conversation in this one.

* * *

_

"Numair. I think we need to talk."

Sarra's voice reached him from a long way away; he was sitting in the garden of Weiryn's house, cross-legged on the grass. He had been looking around, but had fallen into an almost meditative state; he'd been living the life of a soldier for too long not to appreciate the rare peace of not doing anything. Now he shaded his eyes and looked up at the goddess somewhat apprehensively. "About?"

"Don't be foolish. You know what about. I want to know exactly how you feel about my daughter."

Numair had been expecting this and knew what he was going to do. "Then look."

"Do you know what you're saying?"

"Yes. I can't stop you seeing it anyway, and I don't have the words to explain it clearly. I don't want to make the attempt and give the wrong impression; I might damn myself, but not by accident." She took a breath, considering, then nodded slowly and reached out to lay fingers on his head. He closed his eyes and thought of Daine, and wondered briefly if his thoughts were going to kill him.

He was surprised by the images that filled his mind. He'd been expecting – dreading – an onslaught of more physical memories; he and Daine lived and worked very close together and there had been times when modesty simply wasn't practical or important, which had done nothing to help his state of mind over the past few months. Those memories were there, somewhere, but buried under dozens of other memories that went back years. His first ever memory of her, when all he really recalled was a gentle voice and a sweet smile and a feeling of safety that had never entirely gone away. The abstract look in her eyes when she spoke to animals, that was oddly similar to the distant look he got when he was lost in academia. That look of wonder from their earliest lessons, when she had first begun to see what her magic really was.

Lying awake at night listening to her breathing, knowing the simple comfort of not being alone. The way her eyes flashed with steely fire when she was angry, usually with him, or sparkled with life when she laughed. Flying together for the first time, he as the black hawk and she as a falcon, chasing one another around his tower. Her eyes shining with tears in Carthak and her voice cracking as she said his name when she realised he wasn't dead after all. Dunlath forest, and she was telling the wolves that he was her pack. The strength and power that even now she didn't fully realise she possessed, that he had always seen. Her scent, clean and fresh as spring rain, a combination of flowers and healthy wild animal and pine trees.

She had always kept him guessing. He had never known what she would do next. Yet no matter how dangerous the animal or how bizarre the immortal, it had never put a distance between them. In the same way, she'd stood by him no matter what he did, no matter how frightening the magic he used or how terrible the stories he revealed. For better or for worse, they were a team, a _pack, _and always would be. He couldn't imagine life without her except by remembering how it had been before he'd met her, how empty his days had been and how alone he had been without realising.

Numair opened his eyes and found himself smiling. He had a great many happy memories of the past few years, and he wasn't ashamed of them. He looked at Sarra, who had her eyes closed as well and hadn't moved; he could feel her moving deeper now, sifting through other memories, delving into his past. Obviously she wanted to know who he really was. That gave him more problems; he didn't think much of himself. Carefully he avoided looking at the memories she was examining, waiting until she finally took her hand from his head and opened her eyes.

"Hmm," Sarra said thoughtfully; she seemed a little surprised, but mostly pensive, and didn't appear to be angry. Numair breathed out, a small sigh of relief, and stood up slowly. "Hmm," Sarra repeated, looking up at him now. "Not what I was expecting, Master Numair, I must admit. You've led quite a life and been through a lot. It shows." After a moment a hint of laughter entered her voice. "'Magelet', Numair?"

He smiled sheepishly. As pet names went, it _was _a little stupid, especially now Daine was older, but he doubted he could shake the habit now if he wanted to. Besides, it was nice having a nickname for her that nobody else was allowed to use. _And it's far better than 'stork-man'._

Sarra's expression was considering as she examined him, giving the unsettling impression that he was being thoroughly weighed and measured. Finally she asked, "Why haven't you so much as hinted to Daine how you feel?"

"Several reasons," he replied instantly. "If there is any sort of future for us, I want it to be her decision, with no influence from me. I've seen it happen that way before. And what we have is so important to me that I'm not sure I want to risk destroying it."

Sarra nodded slowly. "And the other reason?"

He hesitated and looked into her eyes for a moment, their blue so like Daine's and yet unlike. Her expression showed clearly that she already knew the answer, but wanted him to say it aloud. Dropping his eyes, he stared at the ground. "Because I'm afraid she'll say no. Because I think she _should _say no. She deserves better."

"Hmm," Sarra said again in reply. "Perhaps, but perhaps not. You haven't always been a good man, but you've tried and your intentions were always good. That might not mean much in the real world, but it's an important part of your character. You have flaws, plenty of them, but you're aware of most of them and try to do better. You surprise me, and few men have ever managed that. And you've been very good for Daine in many ways. I haven't made my mind up about you, but I'm inclined to think that my first impressions were wrong."

Before Numair could reply, she turned and walked away towards the house. He wasn't sure how this meeting had gone, but it could have been so much worse. Then again, it still could be; he still had to face Weiryn at some point, after all. Feeling uncertain but not as unhappy as he had been, he slowly followed her.

* * *

That night, Numair dreamed. He had been warned that he might see things in his dreams that he wouldn't like; it seemed the warnings were true. He saw the familiar room where so many meetings took place, saw his friends grouped around the table. They all looked tired, and one or two seemed to have been weeping. Tkaa spoke, his familiar whispery voice carrying clearly in the subdued atmosphere.

"Nonetheless, Your Majesty, Skysong is adamant that Daine and Numair are still alive. She cannot tell me where they are, or how she knows, but she is convinced. I have no reason to doubt her instincts. The animals do not believe that Daine is dead, either."

"Tkaa, we've been over this," Jonathan replied hoarsely. "The gods know I don't want it to be true; I lost two good friends at Midsummer. But there was no sign of either of them, and Numair's horse came back riderless. You can't tell me the gelding would have left Daine behind."

"The area was filled with residue from Numair's magic," Alanna added; she sounded like she had a cold, and her eyes were bloodshot. "Whatever happened, it was a hard fight. I can't see how they could have survived. And we've been scrying constantly since. If they were still alive, we would have found them."

The basilisk replied obstinately, "I would not be so quick to make definite statements about either of them. I have learned to expect the unexpected in my acquaintance with them both. And whilst I cannot speak for Numair, I do not believe that Daine could die without her animal friends knowing."

"So you keep saying," Jon snapped. "But even Cloud can't sense her, you told me so yourself yesterday. Enough, Tkaa. I won't have this dragged out any longer. They're dead, and if we don't want to end up the same way then we need to move on with our plans. Raoul. Report." As he turned away from the table, the king passed his sleeve across his eyes before looking at the Knight Commander.

* * *

Numair woke up with a dull ache in his chest. He'd been so focused on getting back home that he had forgotten the people left behind. Of course they would think he and Daine were dead; they had vanished without trace. _I want to go home, _he thought wistfully, knowing as he thought it that it wouldn't be that easy. Sarra and Weiryn had flatly refused to discuss it until Daine was healed; that made sense, but something about their attitude was bothering him. Going home wasn't going to be as easy as coming here had been, he suspected.

_Home. _What did that even mean, anyway? Tortall was his home, such as it was; right now he didn't particularly care which bit of it. But what about Daine? For as long as he had known her, she had missed her family. Now she was reunited with her mother; she knew her father. It was all she had ever wanted. He had no right to drag her away from that into the middle of a bloody and prolonged war.

His friends must be hurting. Personal reasons notwithstanding, to lose the black robe and the wildmage together was a serious blow. Why was there no way to contact them? Numair frowned thoughtfully, wondering what would happen if he tried. After a moment he shrugged and sat up, attempting to frame a simple speaking spell. The spell itself worked well enough, but there was no response at the other end, no sense of contact; it felt as though he was cut off behind a ward. There simply wasn't anything there. _It's not as if I expected it to be that easy._

Knowing it would be pointless trying to go back to sleep, he got up and dressed, wandering out into the sunny garden. Sarra was outside; when she saw him she beckoned him over. Recalling yesterday's conversation, he obeyed, although he didn't especially want any company this morning, and sat opposite her picking listlessly at his breakfast. The food here was overwhelming; even without bad dreams he wouldn't have been hungry. Even by his standards, this was extreme travel sickness.

"Are you all right?" Sarra asked finally. She sounded so much like Daine that it jolted him out of his brooding; looking up, he attempted to smile.

"I'm sorry. I'm just thinking."

"About what?" she asked a little more sharply. _As if you can't tell._

"About home," he answered quietly, looking away from her. He forced down a few more mouthfuls before abandoning the attempt; taking a deep breath, he looked at the woman opposite him and hesitated, gathering his courage. "I have a question of my own for you, if I may, Sarra," he said politely. This was something that had been troubling him on and off for years.

"Yes?"

Numair met her eyes squarely and spoke while he still dared; what he was about to say could very well get him killed. "How much is Daine's negative self esteem down to you?"

There was a long and dangerous silence. "_What _did you say?" Sarra asked finally, anger clear in her voice.

Well, he'd gone too far to back down now. Keeping his voice neutral, he explained himself quietly. "Ever since I've known Daine, I've noticed that she has a truly dreadful opinion of herself. It's as if there is always a part of her that believes that she is worthless. Right from the start, she has believed that she does not deserve the life she has; even simple things seemed beyond all her expectations." He shook his head, growing angry in his turn now. "I bought a book for her to study, just days after it was decided that I would be teaching her; she almost cried and said it was too good for the likes of her. A _book_, for Mithros' sake!"

Forcing his voice back to calmness, he continued more softly. "She doesn't speak of Snowsdale much. What she _has _said has given me a very low opinion of those from your village, but I find it hard to accept that their attitudes alone are responsible." He met her gaze and held it, and it was the goddess who looked away first.

"Guard your tongue, mortal, or you will lose it." The new voice was Weiryn. That was bad; Numair hadn't realised the god was there. Then again, Weiryn was as much to blame as Sarra over this. He thought about his friend and the years she'd spent fighting against the stigma of being illegitimate, the years she'd spent hurting, wondering endlessly who her father was and why he had never acknowledged her, and he met Weiryn's bright green eyes defiantly.

"Leave him," Sarra said in a low voice. "He's right." Both Weiryn and Numair looked at her sharply; sighing, she looked back at them, her blue eyes shadowed. "You're right, Numair. Much of Daine's problem with self esteem comes from my refusal to tell her who her father was and my refusal to accept that she didn't have the Gift. But in my defence, I didn't have your schooling. I had never heard of wild magic. The only magic I knew was the Gift; I couldn't accept that Weiryn's daughter had no magic. So I kept testing her, pressuring her I suppose. It was only afterwards that I realised I was giving her the impression that she needed the Gift to be worth anything..."

By now Numair was starting to feel uncomfortable. He had the all too familiar feeling that he had gone too far and said something he shouldn't have. This wasn't his business, really. Sarra continued quietly, "And I never had a good reputation in Snowsdale. By the time Daine was born I was old enough to laugh it off, so I did. I didn't really think about what it would do to her."

"I'm sorry," Numair said softly, looking at the ground and feeling ashamed of himself; obviously he had caused Sarra pain. "I just... I've always thought it a great pity that she never appreciated what a remarkable person she is. I didn't mean..." He trailed off.

"Sarra's reputation isn't the only one to have affected Daine," Weiryn said coldly.

"I know," he agreed even more softly. He had tried his hardest to keep his personal life from affecting his young student, but with only partial success. It was widely assumed that Daine had paid for her lessons in his bed, and there was no way he could stop the rumours. It had always bothered him, but never more so than in these last few months. Since meeting Daine four years ago he had evaluated his life at some length and found himself lacking, but if he was honest, it hadn't really stopped him. Shame stirred again, and he looked away.

The silence that hung in the sunny garden was uncomfortable. Finally Sarra said quietly, "Numair, look at me." Knowing what would happen, he took a deep breath and did as she asked, and silently endured the two gods digging through his head; he couldn't help thinking that there must be easier ways of getting information. They _could _tell if he lied, after all. The sense of violation was horrible. Then again, perhaps it was a fitting penance for what he'd said.

Finally the pressure in his mind ceased; the divine pair seemed to have found their answers and turned to face one another, communicating silently. Excusing himself, Numair left them and returned to his room. Sitting on the bed, he closed his eyes and began to breathe in the slow steady rhythms of meditation; it would pass the time, and if it wasn't as good as sleep it was still restful enough to just not think for a while. None of his thoughts were ones he wanted to examine in any greater detail.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again it seemed to be some time later, although the light here was different and his sense of time was skewed. Running a hand over his face, he realised that he had forgotten to shave that morning; muttering to himself, he found the razor, soap and mirror that Sarra had provided. Lacking any better surface than the windowsill, he sighed and began to make the best of a bad job, wishing vaguely that he could have the knack of moving his surroundings.

"Need help?" a familiar voice asked when he paused, startling him. Turning, he smiled to see Daine up and dressed. _At least you waited until I'd stopped. I could have slit my throat._

"It's good to see you on your feet," he greeted her neutrally.

"It's good to be on them," she told him, picking the mirror up and holding it at a better height. Gratefully he resumed shaving. "Have you talked to Da or Ma about sending us home?"

He smiled crookedly at his reflection. "Let us say rather that I have _attempted _to do so," he replied dryly. "They are amazingly elusive on the subject." And he had some very compelling reasons not to push them too hard; he was walking on very thin ice here, and it had grown thinner this morning. "The best I've gotten so far is that we may discuss it once you are recovered."

"I've recovered," Daine replied automatically; he barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. _You'd say that if you'd lost a limb and were still bleeding, magelet. _The decision he had made earlier came back to him, and he bit back an unhappy sigh.

"Daine," he began slowly. "Perhaps – perhaps you should stay here when I return. This is your home. You'd be safe here." Too late, he realised that he had said the wrong thing. She dropped the mirror, looking suddenly furious; her eyes flashed to pure steely grey, glittering with angry fire.

"How can you say that? _Tortall _is my home!"

Numair swallowed past the lump in his throat, forcing his voice to remain even. "You'd be with Sarra – I know you've missed her. You'd get to know your father." Picking up the mirror, he replaced it on the windowsill and hastily finished shaving, grateful for the excuse not to look at her. "Look at it from my perspective. I was powerless against the Skinners. There are so many foes in this war, and too many are strange. I would like to know that _you, _at least, had a chance to survive."

"I'll make my own chances, if you please," she retorted, brushing past him to sit on the edge of the bed as he rinsed his face.

"Will you at least consider it?" he asked, without much hope. _You've never listened to me before; why would you start now?_

"No."

"Daine..." he began, not sure of what else to say. Begging wouldn't work; nor would threats. Movement caught his eye in the mirror, and he picked it up, frowning as he examined the battle scene reflected in its surface; Raoul and Buri fighting against the strange flying apes. Turning, he held the mirror out. "What do you see?"

She stared into the mirror for a moment, looking pale. The images faded; he put the mirror down shakily. "I went for a walk earlier," Daine told him unsteadily. "There's a bird here called a sunbird. They reflect the light in a funny way; I saw pictures in it. Thayet and Onua were fighting Stormwings on the palace walls."

"In the Divine Realms, we observe mortal affairs," Broad Foot announced as he entered the room, startling them both. "Liquid is the most reliable, but flame and mirrors work. Mortals who visit us tell us that in their sleeping, just before they wake, they hear what is said as well."

"Is it possible to observe specific people and events?" Numair asked. If he could scry them out, maybe he could talk to them. And if not, just knowing who was still alive might be some comfort.

"Yes," the animal god answered. "It is how Sarra could observe you, Daine. With practice, you could master it in a week or so, and hear as well as see what goes on in the mortal realms." _A week, hm? I bet I can do it faster than that. _Numair picked up the mirror again and sat down, already half-lost in this new challenge. The bed moved beneath him as Daine stood up.

"We'll finish our chat _later,_" she told him firmly. "I'm not done with you!" He kept his eyes on the mirror, refusing to answer. _You should be, magelet. You should have been done with me a long time ago. _She sighed heavily and left the room; he heard Broad Foot following her and continued to stare morosely at the mirror, meeting the sombre gaze of his reflection and knowing that despite his best efforts, Daine wasn't going to listen. _Well, I tried._

"Numair?" Sarra's voice came from the doorway, startling him badly enough that he dropped the mirror. Looking up, he saw both her and Weiryn standing there with their eyes fixed on him. The goddess' voice was soft as she continued. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" That was a reflex he'd learned aged five; never admit to anything until you had no choice.

"Try and persuade her to stay here."

_Do you get some perverse pleasure in making me say these things out loud? I know you can read my thoughts. You know what I'll say before I say it. Can't you just leave me alone? _He didn't say it aloud; he wasn't quite that depressed yet. They didn't hear his thoughts all the time, only if they listened, or if strong emotions caused him to unintentionally broadcast them; otherwise he wouldn't have survived an hour here. Taking a deep breath, he considered his words carefully.

"I've known Daine more than four years," he said finally. "I first met her only a few months after your death, Sarra. In all that time, she's never stopped missing you. And she's always wanted to know who you were, Lord Weiryn. You are her family; after all this time, she deserves that. And the war isn't going well. We've both come close to dying repeatedly in the past few months. The Skinners were just one example. Sooner or later we're going to meet something we can't fight, and next time you won't be there to help her. I'm not strong enough to protect her if she returns." Admitting it hurt, but denying it was pointless.

The two gods exchanged glances before looking back at him thoughtfully. Weiryn's scowl had faded somewhat; both of them examined him with the same measuring look Sarra had directed at him yesterday. Sitting straighter, Numair fixed his eyes on a point between the two of them and tried not to flinch at the faint touches he could feel on his mind.

"It would hurt you if she stayed here," Weiryn said finally, carefully.

_It would destroy me. _"Of course. But her happiness is more important than mine."

"You aren't good enough for her, mage."

To his own astonishment, Numair found himself laughing. "Believe me, Lord Weiryn, I am well aware of that."

"What is it you want, Numair?" Sarra asked quietly. "If you could have one wish. Just one. What would it be?"

He knew without being told that a great deal was riding on his answer, and took a moment to seriously consider the question. There were so many things in his life he would like to wish away or undo, but he didn't really want to change the past in case it affected the present too much. _What _do _I want? _He wanted Daine, of course, but even that wasn't entirely true. He only wanted her if it was what she wanted as well, if... _If it would make her happy._

"I want Daine to be happy," he answered firmly, meeting first Sarra's eyes and then Weiryn's. "Whatever that means, whatever it involves."

"Even if that means you suffer?"

"Yes."

Sarra looked at her mate thoughtfully. Weiryn returned her look, his own expression pensive, before looking back at Numair.

"You really do love her, don't you."

"Yes," Numair replied quietly, admitting it aloud for the first time in the six months since he had realised it.

"Hmm," Weiryn muttered, sounding so like Sarra yesterday that Numair shot the goddess a startled glance. Finally the god nodded slightly, having apparently reached some decision, and turned away without another word. Somewhat bewildered, Numair watched him leave, and looked back at Sarra, hoping for a clue.

Her expression was equally unfathomable, but she smiled at him. "Thank you for trying, Numair, even if she didn't listen," she told him, before following her mate out of the room.

Numair stared at the empty doorway for a while, thinking. _That was obviously a test. I wonder if I passed or failed?

* * *

_

After a time he returned to the mirror once more; with no real idea of what he was doing, it would be slow going, since a few minutes had been enough to tell him that the usual scrying spells didn't work. The Gift had no place in this realm and there seemed little he could do with it, at least in this regard. Hours drifted past unnoticed; this was what he had needed badly, a distraction, something new and complicated to think about that would lift him out of his brooding.

He didn't make much progress. By the end of the afternoon he could see images almost every time he looked in the mirror, but there was no sound yet and he hadn't worked out how to control what he saw. Still, it was a start, and it wasn't as if he had anything else to do until he and Daine were deemed fit enough to leave. The question of their going home was starting to worry him; Midsummer was long past. Presumably Sarra and Weiryn weren't going to be able to send them between the realms again; if that was so, how would they get home?

Not that he was eager to return to the war, of course. No matter how uncomfortable the situation was here, Numair had been fighting more or less constantly for the past six months, and he was absolutely exhausted. He hated killing anyway; it was surely only a matter of time before he would find himself facing not immortals, but men. The first time he'd killed men with his magic had been when he fled Carthak, and the sheer trauma meant that he didn't remember it very clearly, but he did remember vividly the first battle he'd been involved in after coming to Corus; he'd been with the Own and Alanna, fighting Scanran border raiders. He'd done what was expected of him as a war mage, but afterwards he'd been as sick as he had ever been. _I'm no soldier._

That didn't matter. He was needed in Tortall. Both of them were; truthfully he had never expected Daine to listen and stay here. Somehow, they had to find a way home.

There was a knock at the door, and Sarra looked in. "It's almost supper time. Come help set the table," she ordered, making him smile wryly as he stood up. "We have a guest, as well."

_Oh? _His curiosity piqued, Numair followed her outside into the evening sunshine, and stared when he saw the guest talking mind-to-mind with Weiryn. He had met one of the Great Gods before, albeit briefly; this figure's presence wasn't the same as the Graveyard Hag, but the sense of power was unmistakeable. The god was taller than he was, although not by very much, Numair noted with a vague sense of amusement; the dark eyes seemed windows into eternity. The Dream King was instantly recognisable.

Numair waited politely to one side until he was noticed. Weiryn deliberately kept him waiting a little longer before finally speaking aloud. "This is the mage Numair Salmalín, who arrived with my daughter." He didn't introduce the god; whether that was because he realised that Numair already knew, or because he hoped the mage would make a mistake, Numair wasn't sure.

He bowed deeply, trying hard not to dwell on just how insane this was. "My lord Gainel," he said respectfully. The god looked at him for a long moment before nodding once; Numair recalled reading that Gainel only spoke to mortals in dreams, and backed off to go and help Sarra set the table.

"You're taking this surprisingly well," the goddess told him as she handed him a stack of plates.

He smiled crookedly. "Only because I'm not letting myself think about it. I might start screaming if I do. And I _have _met gods before."

"Yes, that's true," she agreed thoughtfully. "We were watching in Carthak, you know. Of course, we were forbidden to interfere in any way, but we were watching."

Numair nodded uncomfortably and carried the plates outside. He didn't like thinking about Carthak. It had only been a few months since the panic attacks had stopped, and most of those who had been part of the delegation still refused to go anywhere near him. The nightmares were less frequent now, but they still occurred. _Maybe I'll get up the courage to ask Gainel to stop sending them, _he told himself jokingly, returning to the kitchen.

Daine joined them soon after that, looking better for having slept the afternoon away; her arrival signalled the start of the strangest meal Numair had ever attended. Focusing on his food, which was so overpowering that he could barely identify most of it, he glanced briefly around the table from under lowered eyelashes; _I'm actually the most normal person here. That's extremely unsettling. _He was also the only non-deity present, with the possible exception of Daine – he still wasn't quite sure how that worked – and the only full mortal, which was frightening. Trying not to think about it, he eyed the wine pitcher as Daine passed it to him; right now it looked extremely tempting, but he too had noticed how strong everything was here and suspected that one mouthful would probably be enough to get him far drunker than was wise. He'd stick to water.

Forcing himself to sit still and not fidget, he let his thoughts return to the only safe topic he could think of; the question of how they were going to get home. During a break in the conversation – or what he assumed was a break, since he couldn't hear any of it – he turned to Weiryn, keeping his voice low. "Lord Weiryn, I know that you and Sarra will be unable to help us return to the mortal realms, as the summer solstice is over. Would the Great Gods be able to aid us?"

"Petition the Great Gods, for all the good it will do," the god replied flatly and more audibly. "They are too busy fighting Uusoae to ferry mortals back home. They won't even reply to mind calls from us lesser gods."

_Damn. _Well, he hadn't really expected things to be that easy; they certainly hadn't been so far. Taking a breath, Numair gathered his courage and turned to face the unsettling eyes of the Master of Dream. "Forgive me, but our friends are hard pressed. Might _you _send us home? You are one of the Great Gods, and you don't look as if you are locked in combat with the Queen of Chaos," he added without thinking, and stopped to curse himself. If there was any time when his sense of humour was inappropriate, this was surely it. _You were right, Alanna._

Gainel didn't take offence, which was a relief; instead the god smiled slightly before shaking his head. "He says you forget your myths," Sarra translated. "Of the Great Gods, the Dream King alone cannot enter the mortal realms. He can only send his creatures to do his work there."

_Ugh. I knew that. I really need to concentrate. _"Forgive me. I _had _forgotten," Numair admitted, subsiding into silence for a while as the meal continued. He wasn't hungry any more and sat back on the bench sipping at a glass of the strange water, trying to think of what else they could try. After a while he turned back to Weiryn. "Would a human mage have more success trying to contact the Greater Gods?" he asked; frankly, the idea of trying to petition the rulers of the realms made him feel sick with nerves, but they were running out of options.

"I don't know why you fuss about it so," Weiryn snapped at him. "Come the autumn equinox, _you _at least will be dragged back to your wars, and I wish you joy of them!" Evidently Weiryn considered that he had failed the earlier test, or simply disliked him enough not to care.

Numair felt anger stirring, and instantly slammed a tight mental control on his emotions. Bad things happened when he lost his temper, and in this particular company he doubted he would have time to scream before being obliterated. Swallowing hard, he answered tightly, "They don't _give _me joy, and I didn't ask for them. Would you prefer we let Ozorne and his allies roll over us?"

Weiryn didn't answer, and Numair returned his gaze to his plate, struggling to calm down. There was no place for him here. He couldn't hope to understand the alien viewpoint of the gods. There was no reason why any of them would care what happened to a handful of mortals; for better or for worse, it seemed he and Daine were on their own.

He remained silent throughout the discussion about the darkings. He hadn't seen them before, but as far as he could tell they were just blobs. Sentient blobs, apparently, but there were so many strange things in the world now that he wasn't going to waste time wondering. They didn't seem to be dangerous, and he had other things to occupy his mind; even his legendary curiosity could eventually be suppressed by enough stress.

* * *

_Poor Numair. He's still not having a good time. But it's not going as badly as he might have feared... Sarra actually sort of likes him. Or did, until he started being stupid. That whole discussion about Daine's self esteem was a late addition, I only wrote it a couple of days ago; Numair broke his leash again and ran off by himself, and that's what happened. Still, he does make a valid point, which is probably the only reason he's still alive; that, and his attempt at being noble and self-sacrificing that Daine completely ignored._

_In any case, there is a positive side to them being able to read his thoughts; he doesn't have to try and explain himself aloud. Can you imagine what a mess he'd make of that? (And Sarra playing with his memories allowed me to sneak in a few spoonfuls of fluff for you, as well)._

_And hey look, Gainel's here. You'll see him again shortly – let's just say Daine isn't the only one getting prophetic dreams. Plus the first real appearance of the darkings, not that Numair particularly cares at this point; he's feeling a bit overwhelmed.  
_

_I like the dream I wrote for Numair. TP never mentioned how everyone back in Tortall must have reacted to their disappearance. There will be a follow-up to that in a later chapter._

_So anyway, that's the main talk with Sarra out of the way. Next time brings an odd conversation with Weiryn, and a familiar face shows up. Numair is also attacked by a blinding flash of the obvious that I think you'll all enjoy._

_**Loten.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Okay, we just passed the number of reviews that Teacher received! A few of my regulars seem to have vanished while my laptop was being fixed... Where are you guys? I miss you, you know.

* * *

_

Numair didn't sleep well that night. He was no longer sure that there was any way for them to go home, and it was no comfort at all to learn that he would be sent back automatically at the autumn equinox; it would be far too late by then. Even if he survived the passage between the realms, and arrived somewhere safe enough to live through the several days' unconsciousness that would follow, it was increasingly likely that most of his friends would already be dead. And if Daine were to remain behind as well, there seemed little point in Numair's survival. Returning alone to a home overrun by enemies wasn't a life he wanted.

He was prepared for more upsetting dreams of his friends or of battles, but instead found himself somewhere else, somewhere dark and empty. A figure was walking towards him; Numair waited, watching the approach warily, until the two were close enough that he could recognise the face. He knew a moment of utter confusion before shaking his head. "No."

"I'm sorry, Arram?" the once-familiar voice asked quizzically. "No, what?"

"If you wish to speak to me, Lord Gainel, please do so honestly," Numair replied sourly. Being mortal didn't make him an idiot. There was a pause before the figure in front of him rippled and changed, and the Dream King looked at him.

–_Interesting. How did you know?_–

He smiled bitterly. "I haven't dreamed about any of my family in over ten years. It seems unlikely that I would start now, when I have so many other things on my mind." _Besides, I very much doubt that they would have anything to say to me. _He looked around him. "Is this real?"

–_The answer to that question is somewhere between no and yes._–

Ah, one of _those _places. Numair nodded thoughtfully and looked around once more; there were distant stars visible in the blackness, but nothing else. "Why am I here?"

–_You wished to know what was happening._–

"And you're just going to tell me? No cryptic riddles? That's refreshing."

–_Guard your tongue, mortal._– Despite the words, Gainel didn't seem particularly offended; if anything, his expression showed mild amusement. –_Watch._–

The god gestured; images began to appear in the blackness, flickering almost too fast for Numair to see. Some were images of the Great Gods standing in a ring around something that constantly changed shape and pulsed with coloured flames that reminded him of the chaos-lights in the sky; he had time to identify Shakith's white eyes, the Hag leaning on her stick, and the Trickster's malicious grin. Some were images of the mortal realms, of people and places he knew, glimpses of the war's progress; Bazhir tribesmen stood side by side with northern soldiers in the streets of a small village as spidrens approached, hurroks dived upon the walls of a city flying the flag of the Queen's Riders, and Scanran wolf-boats were creeping along the coast towards distant lights. Briefly he saw the faces of his friends, each glimpse too short to let him see what they were doing or how they fared.

Finally the images stopped and the darkness surrounded him once more. Numair looked at Gainel, unable to understand what the god had wanted him to see. –_Our war and yours may not be as far apart as we previously thought,_– the Master of Dream told him enigmatically, and gestured again. –_And stop blaming me for your nightmares; they are of your making, not mine._– The stars faded and the Dream King faded with them.

Numair woke up and stared blankly at the ceiling, dimly aware that Queenclaw was lying across his legs. _What was that supposed to mean? _he wondered vaguely. Evidently Gainel was no more disposed to be forthcoming than any of the other gods. "Typical," Numair told the sleeping cat, closing his eyes.

* * *

The following day Numair was wandering aimlessly around the garden once more. He didn't feel much like exploring any further; everything was too strange here and he had far too much to cope with already. At the moment he was trying to puzzle out Gainel's message; the god had seemed to be saying that the battle with Uusoae was somehow linked to the mortal wars, which didn't make sense. That sort of connection between mortals and immortals was forbidden, he knew that much. A voice broke through his musing. "Here, mage. I want to talk to you."

_I have a name, you know, _Numair thought sourly, turning to see Weiryn seated on the doorstep of the cottage. He had come to the conclusion that being the only mortal when you were surrounded by gods was extremely unpleasant, uncomfortable and infuriating, and he really didn't want any more tests right now. Still, there was nothing he could do about it; he trudged across the grass obediently and obeyed the silent gesture to sit down. "Yes, Lord Weiryn?" he asked as politely as he could manage.

The god scowled at him, irresolute, and drummed his fingers on his knee thoughtfully. "You're a strange man," he said finally. "I don't understand you. We've been watching you since Daine met you; I thought you just another mortal male, as selfish and short-sighted as the rest of them, unwilling to see beyond your own skin. But sometimes you do things that don't make sense, that don't benefit you in any way; in many instances, to your own detriment."

Numair listened, confused. "I don't understand," he said finally, not sure what Weiryn was trying to say.

"Nor do I," the god replied. "Why you? Alone of all the mortals in my daughter's life, why are you the one who is always there when the others cannot or will not be? Everything I have seen of you shows you to be obsessive, reckless and vain. You seem incapable of looking after yourself, more than most mortals, and you have the morals of a tomcat. And yet every time Daine needs help, you're there. You can't even have a normal conversation with most people, but you manage to understand her? It doesn't make sense to me."

That was an extremely harsh and unflattering description, but Numair had to concede that it was all true. Not the whole truth, but a masterful summary of all the negative aspects of his personality. It was hard to be outraged or angry when he had been telling himself the same things for so long. Besides, Weiryn had a point; it didn't really make much sense. "I don't know the answer, Lord Weiryn," he said at last. "I don't know what you want me to say, either. I've never understood what is between the two of us. But I know it is important to me, and I know I will do almost anything to avoid losing it; it matters almost as much as Daine's happiness. I'm not a good man; I have known that for a very long time. I'm certainly not worthy of your daughter. But it isn't up to me. Or you. Her life is her own."

There was a long silence after that, but it didn't feel hostile. Weiryn was staring into the distance and almost seemed to have forgotten that Numair was there; he sat quietly, his eyes half closed against the sunlight, thinking of nothing, until Weiryn stirred and spoke again. "Tell me, mage. Can you hunt?"

Startled by the change of subject, Numair considered the question. "A little," he replied slowly. "I'm not very good, but I can survive alone in wild country for a while if I need to."

"Can you use a bow?"

He smiled ruefully. "No. Daine's tried to teach me; so have a few of my other friends. I understand the principles, but I have no affinity for it. For any weapon, really, except my Gift." Alanna had spent years trying to teach him how to use a sword. He could handle a blade well enough to avoid stabbing himself now, but he wouldn't stand a chance against anyone who was more than an amateur. It occurred to him that in his own way Weiryn was trying to get to know him.

"Your magic and your books," the god muttered. "Do they do you any good?"

"My magic does," he replied mildly. "It gets me into trouble, but it gets me out of it again as well. Without it, I'd just be another Tyran merchant, and I would probably be miserable. And I like learning things. Some of them are useful. I've read a little about you, Lord Erlking," he added impulsively; Weiryn hissed and turned to stare at him.

"Where did you learn that name?"

"There is a poem called The Wild Hunt, written several hundred years ago by a mortal bard from Scanra. I can't remember his name, but the poem speaks of watching the Hunt ride the skies, led by the Erlking who is crowned with the horns of his prey." It had taken Numair several days to recall where he had learned of an antlered man; he hadn't read the poem in years, although he had a copy of it somewhere in his tower.

"I had thought that long forgotten," Weiryn muttered.

"It probably is," Numair replied honestly. "Many of the things I know are forgotten by most mortals."

"Probably because nobody else is interested!" a new voice called. Numair thought he was hallucinating for a moment as he looked up at the approaching figure.

"_Rikash?" _he asked incredulously as the Stormwing landed in front of them.

"As soon as I heard that two mortals had entered the Divine Realms, I knew it had to be the pair of you," Rikash told him with a familiar mocking smile. "Nobody else has your knack for finding trouble. It seems I can't even get away from you here."

Numair grinned despite himself; at least someone else realised that this was utterly insane. "It wasn't my idea, I assure you," he replied dryly. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here. Well, not here, specifically, but in the Divine Realms." For once, the Stormwing wasn't smiling. "When I heard the rumours, I decided to come and visit. I'm sure you missed me."

He rolled his eyes and decided not to answer that. "Are you involved in the fighting? On which side?"

"That wounds me, mage. That was a remark calculated to wound." Rikash's grin was firmly back in place, but it didn't reach the immortal's green eyes. "Astonishingly, I'm on your side. For what good it's going to do you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're losing, Numair," Rikash said bluntly, the smile fading. The use of his real name instead of an insulting nickname underlined the seriousness of what was being said. "We only have sixty-three Stormwings in our flock. Not enough to make a difference. And we have problems of our own."

Numair nodded bleakly. "I've been wanting to talk to you about that," he said quietly, a hint of a growl entering his voice. "Why is Ozorne still alive? You assured me that he would be dealt with."

"I know," Rikash admitted, all traces of laughter gone. "He should have been. Unfortunately, not all of us were so quick to return to Barzha and Hebakh as I was. Ozorne killed Jokhun and took his crown, and with it most of Jokhun's followers. He has since recruited more. Now he has four times our number; we have enough to do just trying to stay alive."

"I'm sorry," Numair said after a moment. Rikash nodded, his expression bleak.

"So am I." After a pause, the Stormwing grinned irrepressibly; not much kept Rikash down for long. "What are you doing here, anyway? Following your girl into trouble again?"

With the best will in the world, Numair couldn't stop the blush creeping up his neck and heating his face. _She's not mine. _He very carefully avoided looking at Weiryn – who hadn't said anything so far – as he answered cautiously, "Something like that."

Rikash stared at him for a moment, his head cocked to one side, before breaking into raucous laughter. "Finally gave in, did you, mage? What took you so long?"

"It isn't what you're thinking," Numair replied shortly. He liked Rikash, but it was hard to see the funny side of this particular subject. He didn't even want to think about how the Stormwing had guessed. _I used to be better at keeping secrets. _Once, his life had depended on it.

"Ah." Rikash stopped laughing and looked almost sympathetic. "Did she say no?"

"She doesn't know," Numair muttered, before lifting his head and staring at Rikash. "And if you breathe a word, I swear, I'll melt your feathers off."

"Calm down. I won't. If you want to make life difficult for yourself, that's your affair." The Stormwing looked sideways at Weiryn and grinned. "The stork-man isn't a bad choice, as two-leggers go," he said brightly. The god scowled, but didn't answer.

Numair mirrored the scowl; he really didn't like that nickname. "Stop helping."

The immortal snickered. "Why are you really here, though?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"There was some kind of monster that skins things with a touch. We were fighting them, and losing. It was Midsummer; Weiryn and Sarra intervened to save Daine, and I..."

"Invited yourself along," Weiryn said icily.

"Since I didn't realise it was you who had her, and since I didn't want to stay behind and be skinned alive, yes, I did," Numair retorted. He had had enough of being blamed for that. There were plenty of things for him to feel guilty about; that wasn't one of them.

"I can't imagine why," Rikash replied dryly. "Why are you still here, though? You don't seem very popular, and I would have thought that misguided heroic streak would have sent you back into the war by now. Midsummer's long past."

_Heroic? Hardly. Stupid, perhaps. _He shrugged. "It doesn't seem as if there is any way for us to get home until the autumn equinox," he replied sourly. The Stormwing frowned, before his expression changed to his usual mocking grin.

"I do believe that's our wildmage I hear now," he commented cheerfully, giving Numair a truly evil grin that filled him with dread. One careless joke from the immortal could ruin everything. Daine was indeed walking towards them, half naked and with her hair in a wet tangle; ordinarily that would have posed a serious problem, but her expression was enough to stop Numair feeling embarrassed. Her eyes looked almost haunted, and evidently something bad had happened. He stood up slowly, frowning, as Rikash asked quizzically, "What happened to _you?_"

"Broad Foot will explain," she answered distantly, brushing past Numair and heading inside. "I need to clean up." She vanished into the dimness of the hall; Numair frowned after her, feeling his pulse starting to accelerate, and looked back at Broad Foot. The animal god shifted uncomfortably under the stares of two pairs of green eyes and one pair of brown.

"She encountered a tauros," he admitted finally. "Nothing happened!" he added hastily as all three pairs of eyes widened and three sharply indrawn breaths sounded. "She killed it. And I was there."

The god, the immortal and the man all stared at one another silently. All three of them wore almost identical expressions. Realising it, Rikash looked embarrassed and backed away a step, leaving Weiryn and Numair to eye one another and silently debate who had the most right to be outraged. Eventually, reluctantly, Numair backed down, turning away to stare back at Broad Foot. The duckmole hesitated before saying, "Daine told me that she thinks Ozorne sent it. She saw a vision of him in the water just before it crossed between the realms."

Numair snarled a particularly nasty obscenity, only dimly aware that black fire had begun to dance across his skin and shimmer in the air around him. _You dare, Ozorne? You _dare? he raged silently, fury coursing through his veins. It didn't matter that Daine was unharmed. The point was that the former Emperor Mage had sent a dangerous immortal to try and rape her. The next time he saw Ozorne, he would kill him. Even if every god in the pantheon stood between them. Nothing and nobody would stop him this time.

Rikash had backed away further, his feathers rattling as he fidgeted from foot to foot. Broad Foot looked like he very much wanted to retreat as well, and even Weiryn looked uneasy. Numair's eyes were unfocused and burning with rage; whatever he was seeing, it wasn't what was actually there. Weiryn stood up finally and gestured sharply with both hands in a pushing motion.

Numair's power broke and bent, flowing back and recoiling inside his skin. He staggered under the feel of it, grunting in momentary pain, but the sensation of his magic crawling back inside him cleared his mind and chased away the mindless fury. Closing his eyes, he stood quietly for a few moments and focused on his breathing as his tense muscles relaxed. Opening his eyes again, he regarded his companions sombrely. "My apologies," he said finally.

"I am suddenly glad that I am on your side, mage," Rikash quipped mildly.

Weiryn's expression was difficult to read, but he didn't seem particularly angry as he studied Numair. "Watch yourself, mage," he said finally; his tone wasn't hostile. "You won't like it if I have to stop you again. Your magic won't help you here, so keep your temper." Numair nodded meekly, but he had a feeling that Weiryn didn't particularly object to his getting angry in the circumstances. The god eyed him for a moment longer before turning away. "I will inform Sarra."

Broad Foot followed with a last quizzical glance back at Numair, who was left with Rikash. Exhaling, he ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at the Stormwing, who was grinning again. "So how are you enjoying the Divine Realms?" the immortal asked cheerfully.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's wonderful. Except for all the dreams about how my friends are in danger where I can't get to them. And the fact that everyone here can read my mind so I can't keep anything secret."

Rikash sniggered. "I hadn't thought of that! No wonder you don't seem happy. I think I'm actually sorry for you." He looked thoughtful. "Then again, I _can't _read your mind, and I still knew."

"That doesn't really make me feel any better, you know."

"What a shame." The immortal's grin widened. "But seriously, what took you so long? I thought you were already together when we last met, for a time."

_That long ago?_ Numair frowned, thinking back. "Why?"

The Stormwing looked at him as though he was extremely stupid. "She raised an army of dinosaurs, tore the Imperial Palace apart, then chased Ozorne down and attempted to rip his throat out. Because she thought he'd killed you. Not because the Graveyard Hag told her to. Did you really think _Daine _would just meekly obey the gods? She had reasons for attacking Ozorne, and they all involved you. And I saw enough of you to know that you were on the verge of something spectacularly violent yourself. What did you _think _was going on?"

Numair had no answer for that; Rikash had succeeded in rendering him speechless. He'd spent quite a long time in Carthak justifying both his and Daine's behaviour; it had never occurred to him that there might be other reasons. Did this mean...

His thoughts were interrupted by the Stormwing's raucous laugh. "You really had no idea? I thought you were supposed to be intelligent! You worked out everything else and somehow overlooked that part?"

He shook his head slowly, feeling more confused than ever. "You're wrong," he said flatly. Of course Rikash was wrong. He had to be. Numair couldn't have missed something so important, surely? He'd been desperately looking for reasons to hope for months now. If there was anything there, he would have seen it and grabbed at it... wouldn't he?

"Am I, am I really? I don't think so. Tell her. She won't say no."

"Enough, Rikash."

"Oh, don't be a fool! I don't need to be able to read minds to see that you're hurting."

"I said, enough."

Exasperated, Rikash opened his wings in what seemed to be the Stormwing equivalent of a human throwing up their arms in disgust. "Mortals! You're all idiots. Fine, I won't say anything else. But I think you're insane." Shaking his head, the Stormwing spread his wings and jumped, gliding up to perch on the rooftop; Numair slowly walked inside, lost in confused thoughts.

* * *

By the time they were all sat down to lunch, Numair had developed a headache. He kept his eyes on his plate, aware that Rikash and Weiryn were both looking at him – albeit for different reasons – and concentrated on his food, refusing to let himself think about Carthak any more. He had no idea whether Rikash was right or not, but as the only way to know for certain was to ask Daine – which was _not _going to happen – there was little point in dwelling on it. Besides, thoughts of Carthak always led to thoughts of Ozorne, and losing his temper again would be uncomfortable at best.

"Has anyone thought of a way that we can go home?" he asked finally of nobody in particular. He was starting to feel a little sorry for himself now; he still wasn't feeling well and was hopelessly outclassed in just about every aspect of his life here, and he just wanted to go home.

"There is none," Weiryn told him flatly. "The Great Gods are speaking to no one as long as Uusoae fights them."

"What about the animal gods?" Daine asked; she wasn't eating much, but seemed remarkably composed given the events of the morning, apparently fully recovered from the tauros. Even now, she was still so strong, Numair reflected. _At least one of us is. _She continued slowly, "I came here last fall, while I was in Carthak. _You _took me back to the mortal realms then, Badger."

"Not possible. You were dead then. All I had to do was put you back into your mortal body," the badger replied. Numair shivered and took another mouthful, recalling his reaction when he had learned that particular piece of information; pushing it away as he chewed, he listened as the badger spoke again. "With both of you still alive, not all of the animal gods together could move you between the realms."

"You are far better off here with your mother," Weiryn told his daughter. Swallowing, Numair noted wryly that he was no longer being included in the conversation. "If you insist on leaving, then wait until the autumn equinox, when the gates open for the likes of us and you." _There won't be anything left to return to by then. _Weiryn's voice changed abruptly. "And there's one of those _things _again!" he snapped as a darking oozed onto the table.

"Leave it be, Da. It's not hurting anyone." Numair raised an eyebrow; that was an extremely mild rebuke from Daine. Evidently she wasn't comfortable enough around her father to treat him the way she did most people who were less than enthralled with whatever creatures happened to be following her. Trying not to smile, he eyed the darking as it began to change shape, frowning when he realised what it was becoming.

"Dragons," Rikash said thoughtfully from his perch. "This creature is right, whatever it is. They might very well take you back. You _have _been looking after their young one."

Hope stirred briefly; caught in the excitement of possibly having a way to go home, it took Numair a moment to start wondering just how the darking had known about the dragons. Not sure whether to be happy, confused or suspicious, he stared at the creature thoughtfully; there was magic in it, he could tell that much, but there was so much strange magic around here that he had no chance of learning anything else.

"You mean for my daughter to journey to the Dragonlands? Absolutely not," Weiryn snapped. "It's too risky." Unnoticed at his end of the table, Numair choked on his food trying not to laugh; catching Sarra's eye only made it worse, and he made an effort to muffle his laughter in his sleeve. Weiryn didn't know his daughter particularly well yet, obviously. Risk didn't bother Daine, but overprotective males did, whatever their species.

"They might refuse to help," Queenclaw said mildly before Daine had a chance to speak. "I never met a dragon that wasn't perverse – they're worse than us cats. Even the Great Gods can't force a dragon to do _anything _it doesn't wish to."

"I'm almost positive they will do it," Rikash countered. "Don't forget, we Stormwings know them best – our eyries border on the Dragonlands. They are proud. One or two of Skysong's kin will feel they _must _repay you for what you've done, and one is all you need to go home." He grinned, turning to look at Numair, who had fortunately managed to stop laughing. "Well, it may take two," the immortal continued, snickering. "There's so much extra of one of you."

_Six feet five inches isn't _that _tall, _he protested silently as Daine grinned. At least it had made her smile again; funny how making fun of him generally cheered her up, Numair reflected, trying to fight off his own grin.

"How do we find them?" she asked.

Rikash looked towards Weiryn. "I'm sure a map can be drawn – unless you plan to cage them?" he added challengingly. The Stormwing seemed firmly on the side of the mortals. _I'm glad somebody is. _Numair and Daine both turned to look at the god; Numair was aware of the limits of his own powers of persuasion and let her do the talking for both of them. He might have been able to manage something with Sarra on her own, but he definitely wasn't going to be able to talk Weiryn into anything.

"Da, Ma, please listen," she pleaded. "Humans and People need us. I've friends who would risk their lives for me and Numair. If you won't help us, then we'll muddle along on our own – but we can't just sit here, seeing them in visions, and laze about."

She was right. More than that, Numair reflected, trying not to smile, he hadn't been able to resist Daine's pleading in four years; he doubted that Weiryn was any more immune than he was. True to expectations, the god wavered, then sighed, surrendering; Numair caught Sarra's eye once more and tried to keep a grin off his face. Daine's mother knew her daughter as well as he did. "No," Weiryn said finally, rubbing his antlers. "No, I won't cage them."

Sarra's smile had faded quickly. Now she rubbed her eyes before speaking. "Not even a day I've had to talk to you," she said sadly. Numair's smile died; this wasn't a happy situation. Whichever way you looked at it, someone was going to lose. "But I know you can't sit idly by when them you care for are in trouble."

"Lord Rikash," Queenclaw said quietly, "they will need help to cross the Sea of Sand."

_We have to cross that? _Oh, that would be fun. Numair began to wonder just what he and Daine were letting themselves in for. The Stormwing shifted along his perch, picking at it with his claws. "I will see what can be done," he said finally. "It will take persuasion." He frowned at the two mortals. "_Be careful. _The Divine Realms are perilous. Maybe Queen Barzha is right, and I am getting sentimental, but I would hate to see anything happen to either of you."

Numair exchanged a startled look with Daine; that level of emotion from Rikash was extremely surprising. As if embarrassed by the admission, the Stormwing departed abruptly without another word.

"Forget sentimentality, _I'd_ like to see him lose that _smell,_" the badger growled, effectively destroying the mood.

"And from a badger, that's saying a great deal," Queenclaw retorted.

"I will go with them," Broad Foot remarked casually. There was a pause as everyone stared at the duckmole blankly. "I can't transport them, but I can act as guide and protector. The three of us should manage."

"The _four _of us," the badger countered. _Oh, what fun. Immortal chaperones, _Numair thought before he could stop himself, and was left trying very hard to keep his expression neutral as the badger continued, "I will come as well. I haven't put so much time into looking after this young one to stop now."

For Daine's sake, Numair made himself ask, "Lord Weiryn, will you and Sarra come with us?" Frankly he couldn't think of anything worse, but that was his problem.

"As a new goddess, I'm bound to Weiryn's lands for a century," Sarra replied, smiling a little sadly.

"As am I, for requesting her admittance here," Weiryn added. "You will do well with the badger and Broad Foot."

* * *

Weiryn seemed in a better temper as he led the two of them to what was clearly a workroom. Numair watched as the god presented Daine with a bow, smiling slightly to see her obvious pride and delight; he could see how much this meant to her. Not only was it a gift, it was an acknowledgement from her father, and as such it was something she had been seeking for sixteen years. He felt better knowing that she was armed, too.

After a moment's hesitation, Weiryn growled, "Here, mage." Numair stepped forward obediently, trying not to sigh; he was getting tired of being called 'mage' all the time. It wasn't as if his name was particularly hard to remember. Weiryn picked up a staff from the rack in one corner and frowned at it. "A moment." His curiosity piqued, Numair watched interestedly as the god laid a hand over the end of the staff and white fire – divine magic – flared through his fingers. When he handed it over, a sizeable chunk of crystal was set into the wood.

Numair took it cautiously, half-expecting some kind of hidden trick; he could feel the power in the grain of the wood as he closed his hand around it, and he set his other hand over the crystal, closing his eyes and letting his Gift flow into the staff. Awe filled him as he explored it; this was far beyond anything he had ever even seen. His fingers flexed around the staff as his magic sank deeper, finding surprising nuances built in; he could feel the staff actually responding and being shaped by his power as he examined it, until it seemed made for him. Privately he resolved to do a lot of work with it once the war was done; if he could make anything even half as impressive as this, he'd be happy.

After a few moments he remembered where he was and opened his eyes, reluctantly forcing away his fascination; there were more important things at stake. Besides, in his own way Weiryn had just paid him a very high compliment; the staff hadn't been necessary. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I've never had something that was so – attuned – to me."

The god scowled, more in embarrassment than anger, and turned away. "Come here, both of you." He picked up ink and a brush and began creating a map directly onto the surface of his workbench. "Here we are. Here's the stream, and the pond where Broad Foot stays. And this is the path you must follow." Numair stared at the images visible in the air above the map; he could sense the magic involved as a faint tingle, but he could see nothing, and he was desperate to know how this was done. There were ways of manipulating illusions... He pushed it away to think about later as Weiryn spoke again.

"If you walk steadily, you will spend the night beside Temptation Lake. Do _not _drink from it – unless you desire to be tempted, of course." He couldn't stop himself blushing at the vision Weiryn had created, but it wasn't entirely from embarrassment; more relief. The god was actually being very kind to him, choosing a vision that bore no resemblance to the form he feared any temptation would take; he strongly suspected that if he did drink the water when they reached the lake, he would only see one woman. He stared at the ground, trying to calm his mind.

"Not funny, Da," Daine said dryly, increasing Numair's embarrassment.

"Neither of us is in the mood for temptation, Lord Weiryn," he managed quietly, relieved that his voice sounded more or less normal.

"Hmpf. Well, just don't drink the water there. It's a good place to stop – no dweller of the Divine Realms may harm another within a league of Temptation Lake." Embarrassed or not, Numair's mind was still working, and he spotted the flaw in that straight away; _what about those who don't normally dwell in the Divine Realms? _"The trail will carry you to Long Drop Gorge, which you will cross on the First Bridge."

_Long Drop Gorge isn't exactly a reassuring name, _Numair mused, studying the images hovering above the map as Weiryn continued. "This is Mauler's Swamp. Give no offense to Mauler, if you can avoid it."_All right, Mauler is a worse name. _"Here is the Stonemaze. Watch your footing, never leave the path in the maze, and harm no stones." _How do you harm a stone? _Numair wondered briefly, before deciding that he probably didn't want to know.

"Lord Weiryn, it would help if you were to explain what will happen if we make a mistake in these places," he observed quietly; he always liked knowing exactly what he was facing. The unknown bothered him.

Weiryn looked at him. "Who can tell? The gods in most places never punish a trespasser in the same manner twice. Mauler once ate the mortals who disturbed his afternoon nap, but that was a while ago. He may not choose to eat the next intruder. Of course, he may have young to share his swamp, and they always need a meal." _Well, I feel reassured now, _Numair told himself sourly, exchanging a glance with Daine. Weiryn seemed to realise that he had been no help at all, and spoke again.

"Just use caution. Cut no green wood. Take no fruits without asking the bush or tree. If you don't, you might spend a century with wild pigs trying to dig you up by the roots. Blackberries in particular have a very nasty streak."

_Blackberries? We have to be afraid of _blackberries_? This is ridiculous. _Oddly, Numair found himself thinking of Tristan and his new life as an apple tree, and shivered as Daine whispered, "Wonderful."

"Where was I?" Weiryn continued. "Oh, yes. At last you will come to the Sea of Sand. If the Stormwing cannot find help, the winds will strip your body of moisture in the time it takes your mother's pan bread to bake," he informed Daine harshly. The dry air whipped Numair's hair back from his face, the sensation oddly familiar; he had survived deserts before, after all. It wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat, however. The god continued lecturing his daughter sternly. "Don't you see what folly this is? The Divine Realms are too dangerous for a pair of mortals!"

_If I'd spoken to Daine like that, she'd have kicked me, _Numair reflected, involving himself in the conversation once more before someone lost their temper. "We will have Broad Foot, and the badger," he pointed out mildly; Weiryn didn't seem to have much confidence in the two of them, after all. "And we have protected ourselves, from time to time," he added dryly. "Mortals have survived in the Divine Realms before."

"That's what I thought you would say," Weiryn muttered, no longer sounding angry as he put his ink aside. "At least I can tell Sarra I tried." Numair blinked, suddenly struck by the parallel between this scene and his own futile attempts to persuade Daine to stay here. Thoughtful, he watched the map slowly peel away from the surface of the workbench, and accepted it as Weiryn handed it over; the god seemed to be thinking similar thoughts. "You need not fear that it will go to pieces, or that water will smear the marks," he said almost awkwardly. It was a peculiar moment, broken by Daine.

"Thanks, Da."

* * *

_Numair and Weiryn actually have quite a lot in common, when you look closely. They're both proud, stubborn and slightly arrogant; and, of course, they're both very protective of Daine. That gives them a little bit of common ground to work from. Weiryn raises a good point when he asks why it's Numair, but the god isn't seeing the whole picture. There's a lot more to our hero than shows on the surface._

_Incidentally, the Erlking and the Wild Hunt are from our world; Numair's not the only geek around these parts!_

_If you're wondering which member of Numair's family Gainel was using when he first appeared, I honestly couldn't tell you; I couldn't decide who it should be, so I left it vague. There will be a one-shot later concerning Numair's relationship with his family, but for the moment let's just leave it at what Numair has already said. I thought that someone other than Daine should get some annoyingly cryptic dreams; Numair's won't be the same as Daine's, aside from the chess game._

_And Rikash is back, and still causing trouble. It's about time someone pointed out to Numair just what was happening in Carthak! After all, Alanna and Lindhall were both extremely suspicious. So that was the blinding flash of the obvious I promised you; I trust you approve? Rikash must be feeling pleased with himself; that conversation is going to eat away at Numair for a very long time. Don't you just love evil, teasing Stormwings? There will be more of that later._

_Anyway, Numair knows how they're going to get home now. It's going to be difficult, but he's got a way out. He's not feeling too bad at this point – unfortunately he doesn't realise just how... interesting... the journey will be. Next time, the journey begins, and brings with it a lake, a bridge, some awkward moments and quite a lot of tension. Poor Numair._

_**Loten.**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_And we passed 200 reviews! Thanks, you guys. Also, best review of last chapter: "Haha, you know that Chaos is taking over the world if Rikash is giving Numair love advice!" Thanks __**pandamari, **__that made me laugh. Rikash has a lot of fans, it seems._

_Now, I haven't handled Temptation Lake the way other authors have... An explanation follows. This is also a longer chapter; turns out the last part was longer than I thought.

* * *

_

Despite her sorrow at saying goodbye so soon, Sarra had organised things very quickly. When they returned to the main room, they found their packs ready and Broad Foot was waiting. Numair frowned thoughtfully at the god. "How do you want to do this?" he asked. "You can't use your power to move us, and – forgive me, but – I doubt that you can walk at our pace."

The immortal looked at him and for a moment he could swear that against all probability the duckmole was grinning. A heartbeat later he jumped and barely bit back a yelp of shock as his shirt began to move against his skin; that felt _creepy. _Shivering a little as the power faded, he glanced down at the new garment and sighed, resigned, as Broad Foot materialised inside the pouch he had created. _Marsupial humour isn't very subtle, apparently._

"The view from here should be very nice," the god commented cheerfully. "Mind you don't bump me." Daine and Sarra were both laughing, Numair noted a little sourly; even Weiryn seemed to be trying not to smile. Well, this certainly wasn't the first time he'd been left feeling foolish since arriving here, and he very much doubted it would be the last. He shifted his pack, adjusting his balance to compensate for the added weight, and found himself looking at Weiryn as Daine and her mother embraced.

The god studied him thoughtfully for a time, without speaking. Numair returned that leaf-green stare as best he could, and eventually Weiryn nodded once and turned to his daughter. Numair wasn't quite sure what that meant; it hadn't been approval, necessarily, but it hadn't seemed to be disapproval either. Neutrality was a huge improvement over dislike; he'd take what he could get. Sarra came to stand in front of him, looking up into his face.

–_Look after Daine, please,– _she requested silently.

'_Looking after her is more or less impossible,' _he replied mildly, smiling slightly.

–_You manage well enough. You're near as stubborn as she is.–_

'_I'll take that as a compliment,' _he answered. His smile broadened despite himself, somewhere between sheepish and pleased; apparently Sarra no longer entirely disapproved of him. That was good. He liked her, and he wanted Daine's parents to at least tolerate him, since he had no intention of leaving.

–_Oh, Numair? One last thing,– _she added casually.

'_Yes?'_

–_If you harm my daughter, if you hurt her in any way, I will castrate you – for a start – and I promise you will scream for _years_ before you die. What Ozorne did to you will be a summer picnic in comparison. Is that clear?– _She sounded completely serious. Then again, he wouldn't have expected anything less from Daine's mother. And if he did hurt Daine, he was fairly certain anything Sarra came up with wouldn't be a strong enough punishment.

'_Yes, ma'am,' _he replied meekly. It seemed far more likely that Daine would end up hurting him, entirely without meaning to; she had been unintentionally hurting him for months, after all. And he was reasonably certain that he would find it easier to rip his own fingernails out one by one than do anything that would hurt her now; not an idle boast, since he knew from personal experience exactly what that felt like.

Once outside, Daine hung back and allowed Numair to take the lead. Following Broad Foot's directions, he started walking along the path; he didn't look back, although he knew he would never come here again. It was possible he would never see Daine's parents again, either, but he hadn't particularly enjoyed his visit. It hadn't been anywhere near as bad as it could have been, admittedly, but he was more relieved than otherwise to be leaving. Besides, they were on their way home.

* * *

As they walked, he was conscious of Daine's silent presence behind him. They didn't always talk as they journeyed, but usually the silence between them was comfortable; not now. He could almost feel her unhappiness, and it took an effort to keep walking and not turn to see if she was all right; he knew she wouldn't want him to see that she was hurting. She should have stayed, he told himself, but he had known from the start that she would not.

It seemed to have grown very dark suddenly. Numair looked up, paying more attention to his surroundings, and stared. "Goddess bless," he said softly, stopping in his tracks and gazing in awe at the biggest tree he had ever seen in his life. He exchanged a startled glance with Daine as she came to stand beside him; with one accord they both moved forward and attempted to reach around the trunk. Both their arms together, stretched so far that it hurt their shoulders, reached only three quarters of the way around.

"She is the First Tree," Broad Foot explained. "From her acorns, the first mortal white oaks were born." _The Tree of Life, _Numair thought suddenly. _That's supposed to be an oak tree. It's real? _Before he could get totally immersed in the half-remembered legend, he blinked, registering what Broad Foot had actually said.

"Her?" he queried a little warily.

"She is a god," the immortal replied, amused. "She is aware. All of the First Trees are."

Both Daine and Numair stepped back hastily from the tree; after a moment Numair bowed formally, hampered a little by Broad Foot. Remembering to be polite to plant life was going to take some getting used to. _At least it's not an apple tree. _Straightening up, he hesitated, frowning and straining his ears as an odd sound reached him. "What's that noise?"

"What noise?" Daine and Broad Foot asked together. Ignoring this, Numair circled slowly; the sound seemed to be coming from Daine, which made no sense. Walking closer, he traced it to her pack and bent to listen, ignoring Broad Foot's protest. Curiosity overcame caution – not for the first time – and he unfastened the pocket that seemed to be the source of the noise. Reaching in, he unearthed a darking, and held the blot up for his companions to see; it was the first time he had touched one. It felt strange, cool and light and oddly without substance.

"Now where did _you _come from?" he asked it before realising what he was doing. He really had been with Daine too long; it was habit now to talk to creatures that couldn't answer in any way that he understood.

"Is it the one that's been following me about Da's?" Daine asked after a moment. The blot shifted in Numair's hand, shaping itself a rudimentary head and nodding. "Were you in my pack by accident?" It shook its new head, and the girl frowned. "You _wanted _to come?" It nodded again, and she shrugged, reaching to tug open the breast pocket of her shirt. "Pop it in here, then."

He hesitated for a moment before doing as he was told, well aware that should he look he would have an excellent view straight down the neck of her shirt, and fighting to maintain eye contact; she looked up at him innocently. "Now we've each got a passenger," she commented, and smiled. The expression lit her whole face and deepened the blue of her eyes; Numair's breath caught for a moment as her beauty hit him like a physical blow, and it took a real effort to wrench his eyes from hers. She was close enough to kiss. All he had to do was lean down... Turning away abruptly, he swallowed hard before finding his voice.

"We shouldn't dawdle. We've a lot of ground to cover," he said shortly, returning to the path. Broad Foot was wheezing softly, clearly laughing. _'Shut up,' _he snapped silently, trying to control his breathing, _'unless you want to walk the whole way to the Dragonlands.' _He kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead, fighting his body's response with everything he had, and when desire finally died it left behind a faint sense of loss and a strong sense of self-loathing. _It's going to be a very long journey.

* * *

_

They walked long after darkness fell. Numair used the staff Weiryn had given him for light; the crystal emitted a soft white glow, which was a definite improvement over trying to see where he was going by the extremely strange light given off by the black fire of his Gift in its raw state. He was getting very tired by the time the path emerged from under the trees; what light there was sparkled off a large body of water in the middle distance. He looked down at Broad Foot. "Temptation Lake?" he asked, the first words he had spoken for hours.

"Yes, indeed," the duckmole replied. "And I could do with a swim." He lifted the god out of his shirt, pausing a moment as the surreal nature of the situation hit him again, and let his pack fall to the grass with an inward sigh of relief.

Rolling his shoulders stiffly, he asked, "Broad Foot, if I bespell our camp for protection, will it inconvenience you?"

"No, not in the least," the god told him, amused. "Though you don't _need _to spell it – Temptation Lake is sacred. No one of the Divine Realms would harm anyone here." That was exactly what Weiryn had said; Numair remained unconvinced. Apparently Broad Foot wasn't entirely sure either, since he added, "If anything _does _happen, mind, just call or think my name, and I'll come. And remember – don't drink the water!" The god departed, leaving the humans alone.

Numair had more or less recovered from the awkward moment earlier. It wasn't the first time it had happened, and doubtless wouldn't be the last. Even so, he didn't feel much like making conversation tonight, and silently handed his pack to Daine so that she could sort out their bedding, walking away and starting to mark the boundary of their camp. He had intended to simply ward it, but when his foot kicked a rock he changed his mind and bent to pick it up, gathering others as he walked and placing them in a circle.

He was tired, and not really concentrating much, and chose to use a threefold ward. Ordinarily it would only have needed one circuit, but tonight he didn't want to take chances and walked the circle three times. Once for sight and sound, once for the warmth of the rocks, and once for a physical barrier. That done, he wearily returned to his blanket and sat down to remove his boots. "We're shielded from sight and sound."

"And the rocks?" she asked curiously.

Numair managed a tired smile. "We only have one blanket and a cloak each. You know I don't like to get cold." He seemed to feel the cold more these days; mostly it was psychological, he suspected, more loneliness than temperature. Sleeping alone did feel cold sometimes, he knew. Rolling over, he settled with his back to her; tonight there would be no watching her sleep, his way of punishing himself for almost losing control earlier. "Good night, magelet."

It occurred to him as he lay there that he wasn't the only one sleeping alone tonight. Divine animals didn't seem as friendly to the wildmage as their mortal descendants were; Daine too would surely be feeling the cold. _It would be nice if I'd thought of that before, _he told himself quietly; that was a far less selfish reason for using the rocks. Well, it couldn't be helped; still, he made a mental note to try and remember that he wasn't the only one suffering from the strangeness of being here.

He lay silently listening to her breathing behind him, hearing the sound change as she slid into sleep. Once he was certain she was out of it, he rolled onto his back and stared upwards at the unfamiliar sky; there was no point trying to sleep yet. Since Midwinter Numair had been having problems sleeping, staring into the darkness and worrying about things until the small hours before exhaustion let him rest. He had too much to think about, that was the problem.

It wasn't just how he felt about Daine that was occupying him this time, either. He worried endlessly about the war back home, dwelling on every scrap of information the brief visions occasionally showed him, trying to work out how his friends were faring while the two of them were stuck here. Yes, the Divine Realms were wondrous, magical, and awe-inspiring; but their friends needed them.

Frustration replaced worry; he disliked being helpless. He knew now that he had taken his Gift for granted before; he might as well not have any magic at all here for all the good it was doing him. All his power, all his knowledge, and in this place he could apparently be defeated by a blackberry vine. He wasn't used to being at the bottom of the power structure and he didn't like it. More than that, if something did attack them he could do nothing except watch. Not for the first time, he wished that he had any skill at all with a weapon, but the best efforts of all his friends had shown him that his magic was it as far as defending himself.

Exhaling, Numair shifted irritably, restless. It wasn't just that his magic didn't help him here; he didn't belong here. Everything felt wrong, somehow, subtly out of place. His senses weren't reliable; the few spells he'd tried since arriving here, such as the ward circling their camp at the moment, worked the way they were supposed to – but almost reluctantly, overcoming some sort of resistance.

This was no place for a mortal. The food was overpoweringly rich, but at the same time it tasted wrong to him; even the air seemed strange. It wasn't making him ill, and it didn't seem to be weakening him, so he had said nothing to Daine or her parents, but it was uncomfortable. Daine was all right; she was a demigoddess – he still hadn't quite got his mind around that fully; it was quite high on the list of things he really didn't want to think about – and once her mixed blood had adjusted she had adapted perfectly. This was home to part of her, but there was no place here for him as a mortal man.

He gave up on sleep and stood, moving quietly to avoid disturbing Daine. Walking to the ward, he gestured impatiently and stalked through the circle, kicking irritably at one of the rocks as he passed; about all that his Gift was good for here was inconveniencing him. Aware that he had worked himself into a foul mood, he took several slow and deep breaths before walking slowly towards the lake. He'd walk for a while, cool off, then try to meditate, and hopefully then he could sleep.

Standing on the shore, Numair studied the water thoughtfully. It didn't look particularly strange. Crouching, careful to avoid touching the surface – as far as he knew, you had to actually drink it, but he wasn't about to take chances here – he held his palms over the water and let his magic sink into it, distracting himself by trying to work out what gave the lake its strange properties.

* * *

Something smashed into his ribs. Gasping, he tried to yell and inhaled water; gagging, his mind struggled to work out what had happened. He was under water and didn't remember how he'd got there. The thought dissolved as he focused on trying to cough water out of his lungs, desperately attempting to breathe, only vaguely aware of the presence at his side helping him stay afloat. He could swim, but not well – he'd spent most of his early life in desert countries, after all – and at the moment he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could barely see.

Eventually his feet hit mud, and he managed to struggle to shore by himself, still choking and spluttering as he fought for air. Collapsing to all fours in the reeds, his stomach heaved and he vomited what felt like half the lake, water streaming from his nose and mouth. The first real breath he took burned the whole way down; coughing, he stayed where he was, head hanging, letting the oxygen clear his mind. When he could move, he staggered to his feet, the world spinning around him, and turned to stare back at the lake.

"Don't be foolish. Come back and sit down."The growling voice was the badger. His head pounding, Numair obeyed, stumbling wearily back to the campsite, still wondering blearily what on earth had happened to him. The animal god filled him in on the basic details as they waited for Daine and Broad Foot to return; the wait gave him time to appreciate how much drowning hurt, as well as realising that he appeared to have a cracked rib and what promised to be some splendid bruises where Daine had crashed into him. His throat stung, too, where the – whatever it had been – had held him. Nothing serious; he'd clean up and tend his injuries later, when he didn't feel so ill.

Footsteps interrupted the conversation – if you could call it that; he wasn't contributing much in his state. "I think I hear – " he started to say, turning; Daine was walking towards them, wet, naked, and apparently in a bad mood. He felt himself turn scarlet and looked away so fast his head spun, but the image was already burned onto the inside of his eyelids, where no doubt it would torment him both awake and asleep for a long time yet.

He'd missed part of the conversation struggling for control. When he tuned back in, she was getting dressed behind a tree, telling him about what she and the duckmole had found. The lake was tainted? That might explain how he'd apparently fallen victim to something when he hadn't even touched the water, but he decided it was a waste of time trying to find a rational explanation for anything that happened here.

When she had dressed, she came over towards him and he handed her boots over automatically. She gave him a stern look, one that usually meant he was about to be told off for something – although for once he wasn't sure what; he really hadn't done anything wrong this time – and he braced himself.

"Are you _sure _you didn't drink from the lake?" she asked quietly, glaring at him. "That creature looked like a blue, naked female with a big chest to me, until Broad Foot changed my vision. She looked like _just _the kind of female you might want to be tempted by, Master Salmalín."

He felt himself flush again, intensifying his headache, but the sheer injustice of the accusation left him briefly speechless. He hadn't done anything! Did she think so little of him? Well, if she did, it was his fault, he had to admit. A moment later and indignation gave way to a sudden urge to laugh; why would he be tempted by anyone with blue skin? _I may have had questionable taste in the past, but... blue? _In any case, he didn't remember a woman, of any colour. The last thing he remembered was looking at the lake magically; then he'd been out in the middle of it, drowning.

Laughter threatened to become hysteria and he bit his tongue to control himself, floundering for an answer. Quite apart from anything else, his most compelling reason for resisting the water of Temptation Lake was that he knew what form that temptation would take. It was currently glaring at him from a short distance away. He had more temptation than he could cope with already; what madman would want to add more?

"I give you my solemn word that I did not drink the lake water and request temptation," he managed after a moment, relieved that his voice sounded more or less normal. He raked his fingers through his wet hair, tugging out some of the knots. "I tested it with my Gift, and sensed that there was something very wrong with it." _Along with everything else in this place_, he thought sourly, and decided a change of subject was in order. "You know, magelet, the gods may be losing ground against Chaos."

"What makes you think so?" the badger asked sharply.

"I know my legends and myths," Numair replied hoarsely, wishing his throat didn't hurt so much. "The creators of the universe ordained that the gods, who stand for order, and Chaos, who stands for _– _"

"Chaos," Daine interrupted, grinning mischievously at him. Automatically he reached and tweaked her nose, trying not to smile.

"They must stay in balance," he continued. "The only problem is that it's the nature of each to fight the other." _Like that fable about the scorpion and the frog._ "It's written that a day will come when the Queen of Chaos will break free of the prison created for her by her siblings, the Great Gods." He stopped talking, trying not to cough, and Broad Foot took over.

"When that day comes, the mortal and divine realms will melt into Chaos. The gods – all gods – will perish, as will all mortal life," the god said grimly.

"You know your legends well, human," the badger remarked distantly, apparently lost in thought.

"I have to report this," Broad Foot said. "It's more than just the lake being poisoned. The creature that had you captive was no part of this place. It was a Chaos-dweller, masked as a lake being." _See, magelet? It wasn't my fault. _"How one of _them _managed to escape into the Divine Realms..." the god continued, before trailing off. "You start without me – I'll catch up." He vanished without another word, and Numair wearily hauled himself to his feet; time to start moving again. He'd have to put up with feeling sick and generally ill-used while they walked.

Another darking seemed to have joined the first one as they prepared to set off once more; Numair wasn't really paying that much attention, feeling fairly sorry for himself now. Broad Foot rejoined them at midday, looking worried. "Not good, not good. They have placed a ban on the lake, but they won't be looking into the matter of those who have been tainted. I think _– _" He sighed. "I think it is all they can do to hold the barriers against her."

_Well, that's it, then. If the Great Gods can't stop this, it's just a matter of time. _"Then if we can do nothing here, let's be on our way," Numair suggested, trying for Daine's sake not to sound fatalistic. "Daine and I would like to go home, where we _can _do something." _Although I can't imagine what.

* * *

_

Numair was silent throughout most of the afternoon's journey, mostly because he was still feeling sick. His chest ached with every breath, his head was aching and his throat was sore; it didn't leave him inclined to make conversation. He was grateful for the staff Weiryn had given him; it might be a useful magical artefact but right now he was more appreciative of it as a means of support, leaning on it as they walked. Finally the forest gave way and they walked out into the open once more; the grass ahead was broken by a dark line.

"Long Drop Gorge," the badger informed them, somewhat unnecessarily. Daine walked closer to the edge curiously; he heard her whistle softly and followed, staring down into the depths and almost echoing her. He couldn't be certain, but it looked deeper than Balor's Needle was tall. "And there's the First Bridge," the badger added; Numair followed the immortal's glance and raised an eyebrow as he studied the bridge. It wasn't the most reassuring thing he had ever seen_._

"The first rope-and-wood bridge," Broad Foot corrected his companion pedantically. "The first rope bridge is further up. We didn't think you'd like that." _I don't think we would, either, _Numair agreed, still eyeing the bridge doubtfully.

"First Bridge or First Wood-and-Rope Bridge, it won't break," the badger snapped impatiently. "It was set here after the first humans were done with it, and it's been here ever since." _It was made by humans? _Numair thought in dismay. No wonder it appeared to be falling apart by now. He had assumed it would be divine in origin. The god continued irritably, "No force in the Divine Realms may break it, until the realms themselves are broken." Given what was currently happening throughout the realms, Numair didn't think that was particularly reassuring.

"Is there an easier way to cross?" he asked faintly. "Anywhere?"

Both animals shook their heads. "Long Drop Gorge extends several days' march in both directions," Broad Foot replied. "You _did _say you are in a hurry."

_Typical. Someone has a nasty sense of humour. _Numair nodded resignedly and thought for a moment before turning to the badger. "Would you be able to carry our belongings if you and Broad Foot transported yourselves across?" he asked. Daine wasn't listening to the conversation, staring down into the gorge in silence; her face was pale.

"No," Broad Foot answered. "Weiryn and Sarra both put some of their power into what you carry to help you. Those things are bound to you. If we tried to take them, they would not come." Numair eyed the staff he held warily; he hadn't even sensed that.

"I didn't know Weiryn cared," he replied sarcastically, both gods looking amused as he did so. Abandoning that idea, he turned to look for Daine, who hadn't moved from the rim of the gorge; she looked unusually worried. Frowning, he walked over to her, and hesitantly put his arm around her shoulders; he could feel the tension in her. "Are you all right? Heights don't usually bother you."

She looked up and tried to force a smile. "It's the bridge as much as the height," she replied quietly. He could certainly sympathise; it looked as though it would disintegrate at any moment.

"I will carry your things, if you want to shift," he offered quietly. "A shape change is out of the question for me. We must keep our food and weapons, for one. For another, I would hate to use my Gift to fly across, then need it to handle trouble on the other side." Which would be absolutely typical. _What is it the Yamanis say? Sakuyo laughs._

She hesitated, obviously tempted by the offer; it had been a long time since he had seen her so uncertain about anything. The badger said firmly, "If we are going today, let us begin. I would like to be across before anyone, or anything, else comes by." _So would I, _Numair decided fervently.

"He's right," Daine agreed, taking a breath and forcing another smile – no more convincing than her earlier attempt. "We'd best start walking."

_Stubborn as ever, _he thought affectionately, nodding and stepping back. Putting Broad Foot down, he waited until the gods had transported themselves across before bowing theatrically to his friend and gesturing to the bridge. "Ladies first."

Her smile was slightly less forced as she shook her head. "No, you go."

Actually, it made more sense for him to go first, as he was the heaviest; if the bridge held for him, it would hold for her. Nodding, he carefully stepped onto the first plank. Gripping the rope rail with his right hand, he shifted the staff awkwardly in his left and managed a rudimentary hold; taking a breath, he started walking, trying to ignore the ominous creaking sounds or the way the whole thing shook under his feet. Watching where he stepped and doing his best not to see what lay beneath the planks, he concentrated on his Gift; if the bridge _did _give way, he would have to shapeshift very quickly.

When he slipped, he thought his heart would stop. The bridge swayed violently as he caught himself, and he realised he was trembling; for an instant he had been staring straight down into the gorge. Breathing deeply, he turned his head to look back at Daine. "It takes getting used to," he called, trying to sound calm.

"It's stood for time out of mind!" the badger told them sharply.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Numair retorted, and Daine said it at the same moment. Looking back at her, he grinned; occasionally they did say the same thing simultaneously. It was rare for him to have someone else thinking along the same lines, and it was one of the things he loved most about their friendship, the way they understood one another. She mirrored his smile and carefully stepped onto the bridge as he returned his attention to his footing; the bridge was rocking more vigorously now with two of them crossing.

He heard Daine growl something about the wind behind him, but couldn't spare the concentration to look around. Whatever she had said, he suspected from her tone that he would agree with her; the wind was completely unnecessary. He still felt a little nauseous from that morning's drowning experience, and the swaying motion of the bridge really wasn't helping. _Just remember not to throw up into the wind, _he reminded himself.

Abruptly the bridge rocked harder, vibrations coming from behind him, and he heard Daine say something. Twisting to look back at her, he raised his voice to be heard over the wind. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know!" she called back. "It's the darkings! _Enough!" _she snapped, evidently not to him; the wind was making his eyes water, and he couldn't entirely see what she was doing. He stayed where he was, frowning, debating whether or not to try walking back to help her; suddenly her head came up and he saw her expression change. A moment later she lifted a hand and pointed, shouting a warning. "Hurroks! Eleven of them!"

_That was hardly necessary. _Numair swore quietly and turned to face the oncoming immortals, shifting his legs further apart and trying for as stable a position as possible as he lifted the staff, holding the rail with his free hand.

In a way, the attack came as almost a relief. This was an enemy he understood, an enemy he could kill. And it was almost shamefully cathartic to simply blow them apart; sometimes the only thing to do was make something explode. He spent some minutes venting emotions on the attacking immortals, barely noticing the swaying bridge beneath his feet, ignoring Daine's arrows and the animal gods' silver fire. Once he'd run out of things to burn, Numair took a moment to get his breath back before turning carefully to look along the bridge at Daine. She seemed all right, but seemed to be looking at something on the boards that made up the bridge.

"Daine, may we move on?" he called, wanting to get off the planks before something worse happened. Her reply was indistinct, but a moment later she stood and began walking gingerly towards him, the bridge swaying with her movements. He stayed where he was and waited for her, both to make sure she was all right and to give himself time to calm down from the adrenaline of the fight; as she drew nearer he saw blood on her shirt and tensed.

"You're hurt," he managed somewhat inanely as she reached him; carefully, he reached and touched the back of her head where her hair was sticky with blood, and she winced. Her colour was good, at least; she probably wasn't too badly hurt, he told himself sternly. "I'll tend it later, though. Let's get off this thing!"

"I don't know," she remarked, following him carefully along the planks. "It seems like a nice little bridge."

He turned to stare at her, raising his eyebrows and trying not to laugh; had she picked up the habit of finding weird humour in bad situations from him, or had he caught it from her? She smiled at him. "It never dumped us, now did it? And it could've."

She had a point there; it probably could have. Still could, come to that. "Yours is a happy nature," he told her wryly, feeling in a better mood – even at the worst possible times, she could generally cheer him up a little. "I confess, this is too much like excitement for me."

"It could be worse," she told him with an innocent expression, then giggled. "It could be raining."

He turned away to hide his smile, shaking his head as he returned his attention to crossing the bridge. "I wonder if that hurrok struck your head a little too hard."

"Nonsense," she retorted. "I couldn't have shot straight if it had."

They reached the end of the bridge with no further incidents, and he turned as she stepped off the final plank and pulled her into a hug just to reassure himself that she really was all right, ignoring twinges from his bruised ribs and gently parting her hair with his fingers to examine the claw marks. Scalp wounds bled messily; he was relieved to see that these were shallow. He'd sweated through his shirt, and his heart was racing as he held her; _that was too close._

"We should clean this," he remarked after a moment, doing his best to act normally. "Didn't Sarra give you ointment for injuries?"

"Mm-hm," she answered absently, shifting against him and rubbing her nose in his chest hair above the edge of his shirt collar, nuzzling him – she had barely touched him, and yet it sent a shock down his spine far out of proportion to the actual contact and made his breath catch in his throat. _Oh, gods. _Hastily he drew back, his voice sharper than he had intended.

"Stop it. I can't think when you do that."

"You think too much," she retorted, and to his relief the animal gods came to his rescue.

"I smell water. Fish, and frogs, too," Broad Foot said.

"Let's find it," the badger ordered. "Before something else happens."

* * *

His own injuries forgotten, Numair felt more like himself when they reached the pool, and took charge briskly as the animal gods disappeared to hunt – he tried not to think about why they might have left the two humans alone, since he knew they didn't actually need to eat. Ordering Daine to go and wash her cuts out, he built up the fire and found the jar of ointment Sarra had provided, sniffing it warily; he had no idea what was in it. When Daine returned, he sat behind her and gently ran his fingers through her hair as he carefully exposed each gash and checked that it was clean and no longer bleeding.

She was so close that he could smell her, and he had always loved her hair. The damp curls felt vibrant and alive beneath his fingers. Taking a deep breath to try and ease the ache in his chest – that no longer had anything to do with Temptation Lake – he picked up the ointment and gently smeared a small amount of it along the first cut before grunting in surprise.

"What?" she asked from in front of him, starting to turn around until he gently tugged at a curl to keep her head still.

"The wounds are closing," he replied, watching interestedly as he treated the next injury and it, too, closed in front of his eyes.

"She said the herbs she finds here are more powerful," Daine said after a moment. He nodded and continued tending the other cuts, reflecting that they were both getting blasé about things like this. _We've been here too long, _he decided as the final gash closed. Patting her shoulder to indicate that it was finished, he stood up and moved away, even though he would have liked to stay where he was – _because _he would have liked to stay where he was.

When their companions rejoined them, it was the badger who asked the pertinent question. "Daine, what in the name of all the gods was going on at that bridge? It looked as if you were dancing!" Annoyed, Numair told himself sternly to keep focused. Once he'd seen that Daine was hurt, he'd completely forgotten everything else.

"It's these darkings," Daine replied, sounding tired. She indicated one of them – for some reason it was no longer entirely black, but had a streak of gold running through it. "This one started attacking the other one, the one that was in my belt purse. Seemingly they were fighting, or disagreeing. And then I saw Ozorne." She bit her lip, avoiding looking at Numair; for his part, he closed his eyes for a moment and just breathed. He needed to stop losing control every time he heard the name. "There was another time," Daine continued quietly, "when the tauros almost got me." This story really wasn't helping him keep his temper, Numair reflected, doing his best to listen without reacting. "A darking was in the water – was that you?" she asked the gilded one, who nodded. "I saw Ozorne then too, inside _him,_" she finished, pointing to it.

"You never mentioned this," Numair responded tightly.

She stiffened, and glared at him. "I had other things to worry about!" she snapped, making him flinch. _Sorry_. "I _thought _maybe I saw Ozorne because the darkings are liquid, kind of, but they aren't, are they?" The darking shook its head.

"We need answers," Broad Foot said finally. "Where is the spy – in your pouch still?"

Daine nodded. "Oh – and I've another one."

"Another – ?" Numair echoed, frowning.

"It dropped off the hurrok that cut my head. I think it deserted to our side."

The duckmole selected a clear patch of earth and scratched a rough circle. Just before closing it, he looked at the gilded darking. "Inside, you." It cowered, or at least looked as if it was cowering.

"It won't hurt," the badger growled. "Getting answers in other ways takes too long."

"But Ma tried that," Daine argued. "She only got its name."

"Because that was what she asked for. We're doing something else. Stop dawdling!" Looking twitchy, the streaked darking reluctantly entered the circle. By this point Numair was desperately interested; he moved closer and settled himself cross-legged next to the circle. It had been a long time since _he _had been on the receiving end of a lesson. "Where's this new darking?" Broad Foot asked.

Daine fished it out of her shirt. _It's getting crowded in there, _Numair observed to himself dryly, and heard a sneeze from the badger that indicated his thoughts still weren't entirely private. Biting his lip, he watched silently as the girl told the darking, "Go with your friend," and added it to the circle.

"Now the third," Broad Foot instructed. She turned her pouch upside down and the last darking fell into the circle; Broad Foot closed it and it activated with a flicker that Numair thought was much the same as a circle with the Gift would have done. So far, he knew what was happening, which was refreshing. "Stand back," the duckmole warned; reluctantly he edged away a little and watched as the god made a strange barking sound; silver fire flared above the three darkings and spread to show a picture.

It was Ozorne, of course. Even for a Stormwing, the former emperor was deeply unattractive. Numair scowled at the vision of his old enemy, who was standing in a cave with a snowstorm raging outside. _Hope you froze your feathers off. _On the surface of a pool of water by the immortal's feet, an image slowly formed of Daine reading a book that Numair recognised as one of his, and a fairly new one; this couldn't have been very long ago. The Stormwing stretched out a wing towards the pool, his expression making Numair feel ill; as a feather broke the surface, the vision disappeared, and Ozorne screamed silently in frustration before abruptly stilling. Numair recognised the new expression; Ozorne had just thought of something. The immortal spoke, and gold-edged scarlet fire appeared before him.

"So he'd mastered Stormwing magic by winter," Numair murmured, caught up in what was happening now and mostly forgetting to be angry. "Possibly even before the barriers between the realms collapsed."

"This is months ago," the badger replied. "I remember this blizzard. We don't have that many, even here in the colder climates – it was the first full moon after Midwinter, the Wolf Moon."

Numair watched, fascinated, as Ozorne cut his face on a feather and spoke again. The fire attached itself briefly to the cut, collecting blood, before reshaping into a bowl to hold it; after a pause the Stormwing breathed magic over the surface. Now Numair was finding it hard to follow the process; this was the point where the Gift couldn't have imitated what he was seeing. The immortal turned his wing and nicked both lips with a feather, adding the blood to the bowl.

"For speaking," Numair guessed, barely aware that he was speaking aloud. This was _interesting. _"Blood also for life, and to bind the fruits of the working to him. He couldn't have done it as a mortal, but here – "

"Here magical laws are what you make them," Broad Foot agreed. "He seems to have learned that better than most who are _born _immortal."

Numair raised an eyebrow at that. "I doubt that he learned that at all," he replied dryly, his lip curling. "He merely wanted to do the thing, and so he forced it to happen. Subtlety has never been his strong suit." It was definitely worth remembering that magic worked along different lines here, though. It would only be a matter of time before he needed to do something difficult with his Gift, and he would have to remember that the principles wouldn't be the same. That must be why the few spells he'd tried since Midsummer had felt strange.

He continued to watch with the others as Ozorne added blood from his ears and his eyelids. Sadly, the Stormwing didn't accidentally put his own eye out or even slice an ear off, which in Numair's opinion would have vastly improved matters. Finally the immortal began to beat his wings; with each stroke the blood rose from the bowl and stretched into a column. Ozorne shouted something, and the magic vanished as the blood broke apart into blots – darkings.

"There you have it," Broad Foot said quietly as the vision faded. He broke the circle with a webbed paw. "Your enemy made them to serve as his voice, eyes and ears." The darkings nodded; one of the two plain black ones now had a leaf stuck to it, somewhat bizarrely.

"So you _are _Ozorne's spies," Daine said. She seemed unhappy with the discovery, which wasn't that surprising since the darkings seemed to be the closest replacement for her usual animal friends that she was likely to get while they were here. The two distinctive darkings shook their heads; the third one seemed to be trying not to be noticed.

"You showed Ozorne that we were at the bridge," Numair reminded them coolly. Ozorne was winning; he wouldn't let these things make it easier for him. The gilded darking pointed at the one with the leaf, like children blaming one another for the mess on the floor.

"You'll do it again when he summons you," the badger growled, sounding equally annoyed. They both shook their heads emphatically; the third one continued to shiver.

"But he _created _you," Numair said slowly, anger beginning to fade. Something else was going on here. The gilded darking began trembling violently.

"Don't be afraid," Daine said quietly – and somewhat predictably – making Numair feel like a bully. "You needn't – "

"I don't think it's fear," he interrupted.

"It's trying something new," Broad Foot agreed. "Wait."

After a moment an image showed on the surface of the darking. Ozorne, staring at another blot. _"Obey."_ The three darkings in the circle, and the one in the vision, began to shrill in painfully high-pitched tones, and didn't stop until the image had faded.

"He hurts you," Daine said softly. "Is that why?"

More images formed; Numair snickered when he realised who it was, understanding more fully now. _Oh, magelet. There really is nothing you won't try and befriend, is there? _"Your leg, isn't it?" he asked a somewhat sheepish-looking Daine. "From the foot up?"

"You fed it," the badger said in a resigned tone as they watched. "Sometimes I think you'll feed _anything._" Badger and man exchanged a glance, in perfect accord, both filled with exasperated affection for the girl.

"You were trying to warn me, in the pond?" Daine asked the gilded darking, something in her tone indicating that she wasn't going to respond to being baited. It nodded. "And on the bridge? Your friend here – " She paused, and Numair bit his lip to avoid laughing; he recognised that look on her face. "Leaf," she decided after a moment, "and you're Gold-streak, and this little fellow..." She regarded the third darking, the one without any distinguishing features, while Numair considered a comment about imaginative names and decided not to say anything. "You'll be Jelly," she concluded, before continuing.

"So on the bridge, Leaf was reporting to Ozorne. Gold-streak, you tried to put Leaf in the pouch to keep Ozorne from seeing where I was, but it was too late – Ozorne had already sent the hurroks. You hadn't told Leaf not to do as Ozorne bids you." They both nodded agreement, and she looked at Jelly. "And you abandoned the hurrok when you saw I had Gold-streak?" It shook its head. "Or did Gold-streak call to you?" It nodded. Numair spared a moment to be proud of his student's reasoning skills.

The badger sneezed a laugh. "Ozorne mastered Stormwing magic, but he created the darkings _here._"

"Are you sure?" Numair asked. "That cave may have been in the mortal realms."

"He did it here," Broad Foot replied. "We gods can always tell the difference."

"Here, life is forbidden to remain a slave of its creator," the badger explained to him. "It's why so many children and servants of gods act against the interests of those who gave them life," he added ironically, glancing at Daine; Numair grinned. _You mean it's not just stubbornness? _The badger continued, "The darkings are forming their own ideas and ways to communicate, and they're getting names."

"They're his _blood,_" Numair argued. "Blood will bind anything. How can they refuse when he commands?"

"I don't know, but they can," Daine told him. She looked at Gold-streak. "This morning I heard Ozorne say, 'Number fourteen, report.' I thought I dreamed it, but I didn't. Gold-streak was still in my pack then, so Ozorne couldn't see where we were. Gold-streak refused to tell him!" _All right, all right, _Numair thought mildly as the blot nodded agreement. _I give in. You win – again._

"That's why Ozorne sent Leaf," Daine continued, "because he couldn't make you tell, and Jelly chose to be with you, not Ozorne." More nods. Daine picked Jelly up and spoke to it softly; Numair rolled his eyes and looked around him. He didn't know how long they had spent here, but it was getting dark now, and after everything that had happened today he was exhausted. Looking back at Daine, he noted the shadows under her eyes and recognised that she was no better off.

"We'd best turn in," he told her when she put the darking down. "We've had a long day."

"Doubtless tomorrow will be longer still," she told him dryly, dragging her pack over to her.

"We will stand guard," the badger offered. "Broad Foot and I have things to discuss." _And the mortals can't be trusted alone, _Numair added silently. He was too tired to take offence; besides, it had certainly proved true so far. Finding his own blanket, he curled up, and for once fell asleep the moment he closed his eyes.

* * *

_This chapter was fun. Poor, poor Numair – he's finding it increasingly difficult to behave himself. What makes it funnier is that Daine really has no clue what she's doing to him. That bit with the darking didn't get anywhere near enough attention in the book, in my opinion. I quite enjoyed having Sarra threaten him, too – she does sort of approve of him a little, but she's not going to let him get away with anything. Protective parents, gotta love 'em._

_And so to Temptation Lake. I know, I know, you probably all wanted to see a vision of temptation, but I decided not to do it that way for several reasons – one, it's been done to death by other authors, and two, I don't believe Numair's that stupid. He's decided that the Divine Realms really has it in for him, and he knows what the lake is supposed to do; he wouldn't have trusted anything he saw or heard. (Besides, he makes an excellent point in his head when talking to Daine – people with blue skin are not his type!)_

_I promise, this is almost the last time that Numair wallows in self pity, but I think he's allowed to feel a bit sorry for himself. TP never really went into much detail about what he was going through, but when you think about it, he is the only mortal in this dimension. It was never designed for mortals; he doesn't belong there, and with his magical senses he knows it. He doesn't know this world, nothing works the way he expects it to, he doesn't know what he's doing and absolutely everything is more powerful than he is. My vision of Numair has him very much a creature of habit; he doesn't like the unknown, and he absolutely hates being powerless. Plus, you know, he nearly drowned and Daine is blaming him for it._

_The scene at the bridge is only really worth noting for the extra incidences of tension it creates afterwards, frankly! Oh, come on, don't look at me like that – you all know that's the only reason you like that scene too. And a big dose of darking-related exposition – it doesn't add much to this chapter, except for giving Numair a chance to start teasing back, but it's important for next time._

_Speaking of next time, there will be several very important dreams, some emotional blackmail, a swamp and a bit of humour as Numair finally cheers up a little. Which, given what he learns in his dreams, is somewhat surprising. And then you're all going to absolutely hate me; insert evil laughter here._

_**Loten.**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Another longer chapter; I had reasons for wanting it to end where it does. Just remember, if you hunt me down and kill me, you won't get the next update.

* * *

_

Gainel was being kind, it seemed. Numair was asleep for several hours without dreaming before stars filled the space behind his eyes and the Dream King appeared. _–Can you count, Arram?–_

"That isn't my name now," Numair replied mildly. "What are you trying to persuade me to do, Lord Gainel?"

There was a pause. The Master of Dream approached slowly, and unfathomable eyes older than time stared through Numair. _–And what makes you think I am trying to persuade you to do anything, mortal?–_

"Because you're not a sadist, and you're not doing this for fun," Numair replied quietly, staring around him at the emptiness of wherever it was they were standing. "You want something from me, and you haven't simply ordered me to do it."

–_Perhaps you are as clever as they say_,_–_ Gainel said after a moment. _–And perhaps not. You didn't answer my earlier question; can you count?–_

Obviously the question meant more than it seemed, but he really wasn't in the mood to play games. "Yes, I can count."

–_Then tell me, how many darkings did Ozorne create?–_

He frowned, thinking about it. "More than a dozen, I'd say," he replied slowly. "And that didn't seem like the first time he'd done it."

–_Seems a little excessive, doesn't it, for two mortals?–_ Gainel observed mildly, studying his fingernails. Numair thought about this for a moment before cursing softly in appalled understanding. No wonder the war was going so badly! They hadn't stood a chance from the very beginning.

After a moment, dismay turned to suspicion. "Why are you telling me this, my lord?"

–_Do you recall my first visit to you?–_

"Your war and ours may not be so far apart," Numair repeated from memory. He still didn't fully understand it. "The battle with Uusoae is connected to the mortal war. But how is that possible?" Gainel didn't answer, and he sighed heavily. "Let me guess. You're not allowed to tell me."

–_I don't make the rules.–_

"No, I know." Numair sighed again and ran his fingers through his hair. "What am I supposed to do about it?" _And why am I involved at all? _Tortall's heroes tended to be strong, amazing women like Alanna and Daine; he didn't exactly fit the profile.

–_You'll see,–_ Gainel replied enigmatically, and waved a hand. The stars faded, and he faded with them. Numair expected to wake up; instead he heard voices.

"Your Majesty, we have received word from Legann."

"Report."

"It's not good news. The Seventh Riders attempted to leave by hidden ways yesterday; an ambush was waiting for them. We have three confirmed dead..."

The voices faded. Numair tried to cling to the dream and find out more about what had happened, but eventually he reluctantly acknowledged that he was awake. _That was spectacularly useless. _Although he had learned something, at least. The knowledge was doing him no good at all, since the people who needed to know were another realm away, but when he got home he could hopefully stop them being defeated quite so soundly.

_Oh, who am I fooling? We're almost certainly doomed. _Sighing, he shoved back his blanket and stood up, or tried to. _Ow. _Yesterday's exertions had taken their toll; he was so stiff he could hardly move. Wincing, he dragged himself to his feet, stifling a yawn; it was too early to be up, not even dawn yet, but he wasn't going to be able to sleep again now. _Wash. Shave. Get something to eat. Deal with everything else later, _he told himself, stumbling towards the stream.

* * *

The water was freezing, which did nothing to help his aching muscles, but after working through a series of stretches he could at least move properly. After a moment's thought he retrieved Sarra's ointment from his pack and gingerly applied a little of it to the worst of the bruising covering one side of his chest; it didn't work as well as it did for cuts, but the bruises faded from purple to yellow-brown and he could breathe without it hurting. If only all his problems could be solved so easily, he mused, building up the fire; a moment later he looked up sharply as an annoyed-looking Daine stalked past him towards the stream. She was apparently not in a good mood this morning.

Well, nor was he. He eyed her pack somewhat resentfully; whatever she said about the darkings, they were the reason that so many of Tortall's people were dead. _We're bleeding because of them. _Shaking his head, he set the kettle over the flames. "I learned something last night," he called to her. "The darkings aren't just spying on us."

There was no answer, and he stood up, trying not to yawn. The sun was only just rising, but for once he was surprisingly awake. "Did you hear me?" he asked as Daine came back into view, looking tired and irritable – well, she wasn't a morning person any more than he was. "It's how our enemies seem to know our every move!"

She rubbed her face. "I didn't hear."

"It's the darkings. _They're _the answer."

She glared at him. Recognising the warning signs, he backed off and returned to the fire, pulling on a clean shirt and setting tea to brew; Daine was obviously in a bad mood this morning. Hopefully things would improve once she was more awake, but he wasn't optimistic. He watched from the corner of his eye as she stalked over to her pack and retrieved the darkings in question, speaking to them softly. The badger approached her. Numair waited for them to finish their conversation before joining them; this was too important for him to let it drop.

"It's these little fellows," he said, reaching to pick the darkings up. "Or ladies," he added after a moment's thought, squinting at them. "It's impossible to tell if you have a sex."

Broad Foot joined them, dripping wet. "What about the darkings?"

"They don't just spy on _us,_" Numair explained grimly. "I _thought _Ozorne had created a number far in excess of his needs, if they were solely to keep an eye on Daine or me." He turned his gaze to the darkings. "Your kinfolk are with our leaders, aren't they?" he asked quietly. "The king, the queen _– _"

"In the north," Daine said in sudden realisation, looking worried. "I heard in a dream that the Scanrans got away clean. Somehow they knew the Yamani fleet was coming."

He nodded bleakly. "As I woke, I heard that yesterday the Seventh Riders tried to use a secret exit from Legann. The enemy was waiting. Three of the Riders are dead." She looked up sharply, sudden fear in her eyes, and he winced and reached out to carefully smooth a wet curl away from her face, wishing he had better news to impart. "I don't know who they were, magelet," he told her gently. "No one mentioned names."

After a moment she nodded tightly, pulling away from his hand. "The darking spies tell Ozorne. And other darkings with his commanders pass it on," she hissed, anger overtaking pain. "That _– _dung-fouled, mould-eating _– _" Numair spared a moment to be amused at her mild choice of language; she could swear with the best of them, but apparently was too wound up to think of a suitable insult. She whirled and glared at the badger. "You could put an end to it!"

_That's true. _Numair turned to look at the badger as well; the immortal shifted his weight under their stares. "The Great Gods don't like the People's gods to intervene in human affairs. We are to keep to the doings of our own children." Numair rolled his eyes; from what he'd seen, the Great Gods were a little busy right now.

"You've always said I mean as much as your own kits," Daine countered, kneeling next to her guardian. "Badger, please! I can't help them at home whilst I'm here – but _you _can! _Please!_"

Trying not to smile, Numair watched the animal god squirm. _'You know you're going to give in,' _he commented silently. _'Daine could probably persuade the sun to rise in the west if she tried hard enough. I've found it best not to argue.' _That earned him a glare, but he judged it was about time he started to get his own back for all the teasing he had endured recently.

"What good is knowing that your friends have eavesdroppers?" Broad Foot asked. "The darkings are very good at hiding."

He hadn't considered that, but surely Gainel wouldn't have bothered helping him work it out unless there was a way to stop it. "There are general spells to make an area secure," he replied slowly. "I would hope that the darkings aren't immune to their effects. Of course, chances are that our friends are using such spells now, to hamper the enemy's spy-mages."

There was a short silence before Daine decided to increase her attempts at persuasion. Silently she removed her necklace and held the claw out, her eyes pleading. Numair had never been able to resist that expression; judging by the look in the badger's eyes, he wouldn't be any more successful. Very quietly, Daine said, "I'm asking you now, by this symbol of the bond that's between us: Please help my friends." Oh, she was very good at this. _I never really stood a chance from the beginning, did I? _Numair asked himself wryly.

Broad Foot evidently recognised that it was only a matter of time before his companion surrendered. "If it helps, I will take them as far as I can."

Movement caught Numair's eye, and he glanced over to see the darkings trying to attract Daine's attention. "What is it, Gold-streak?" he asked. Daine bent closer to them and her expression changed. Frowning, he moved forward and rested a hand on her shoulder. "What's the matter?"

She looked up at him, looking confused. "It's Gold-streak. It – it talked."

He blinked, processing this. "But they _don't _talk, do they?" he asked slowly. "My impression was that they only communicate what is said _to _them, or _near _them."

Gold-streak stretched itself even more. "Now talk." Everyone stared at the darking. "_I _go. Talk to darkings. Teach them _– _" It paused, and conferred briefly with the other two. "Freedom. Choosing."

The silence following this declaration grew more oppressive. Daine had turned her gaze back to the badger; the god wavered. "Do you know where your brethren are – who they spy on?" he asked the darkings finally. They nodded. "And I can transport a darking from place to place, here or in the mortal realms." The badger sighed. "It will take us a while, even going from spy to spy by magical means. Transporting all over the mortal realms, I will need to rest," he pointed out, giving in to the inevitable. '_Now you know how I feel,' _Numair told the immortal silently; the badger looked at him with a wry expression.

"Numair Salmalín, look after my kit," the animal god told him formally. He bowed his head in acknowledgement. _'I will.' _As much as Daine allowed him to, anyway.

–_Good luck,– _the badger added dryly for his ears alone; Numair acknowledged it with a wry smile. He was going to need it. "Put that back on your neck," the god ordered Daine irritably; she obeyed silently, smiling gratefully at her guardian. Gold-streak settled itself on the badger's back; the immortal turned to look at it. "Ready?" The darking nodded, and the pair vanished in a flare of silver fire.

Feeling immensely cheered by this new development, Numair and Daine swiftly broke camp. Lost in the familiar routine and not really paying attention – too busy trying to imagine his friends' faces when they learned that the two mages weren't dead after all, and wishing he could see it – Numair was startled when Broad Foot commented, "It's as good as the courtship dances of cranes." Confused, he looked over at the animal god, who promptly ruined his fresh shirt and materialised in the pouch once more before elaborating. "You never bump into each other, and you never try to do the same tasks."

"We've been doing this for a while," Daine replied, smiling affectionately up at him with an expression that made his throat ache. "I've lost count of the camps that we've put up and broken down."

_So have I, sweet. _He wavered for a moment, reaching out to stroke her cheek, and stopped himself. Touching her now would only make it worse. Lowering his hand, he changed the subject. "Where do the darkings ride?" he asked, his voice a little rough.

* * *

That day's journeying was better. Whether out of pity or sincere interest, Broad Foot engaged him in conversation, and the morning passed in discussing the country where the duckmoles lived; as always, new knowledge helped Numair to focus, and cleared his mind so that he wasn't constantly dwelling on the tangled mess his personal life had become. He'd needed the distraction; it was becoming distressingly obvious to him that he wasn't going to be able to keep silent much longer. There had been too many near misses recently; sooner or later he was going to betray himself. Letting himself get lost in academia again was definitely helping, and he was somewhat surprised at how much he'd missed it. It had been months since he'd had the time to sit with Lindhall or Harailt or even Tkaa and get lost in some obscure debate.

It was around noon when the landscape changed and they reached swampland. Pausing, he fished Weiryn's map out of his shirt and unrolled it. "Mauler's Swamp?" Daine asked, startling him.

He nodded. "There should be a bridge ahead." She pointed to a raised walkway of solid-looking logs, and Numair breathed a faint sigh of relief; it looked a lot more reassuring than the previous bridge. His nerves couldn't take many more encounters like that. Crossing the bridge itself wasn't a problem, although the damp wood was a little slick underfoot and there were no railings, but Numair wasn't at all surprised when insects began to gather around them. Tyra was a surprisingly marshy country in places; he knew about swamps. That didn't make the bites easier to tolerate, though; immortal insects proved far more annoying than mortal ones, and soon he and Daine were both scratching.

Finally he decided he had had enough. Lifting his staff a little, he snapped a word, and a thin haze of black fire surrounded the travellers, catching a couple of midge-like bugs that hadn't got out of the way in time. Resurrected, they joined the buzzing, humming, whining cloud outside the shield and started to complain. "The bears and the deer let us feed off them!"

"Muskrats. Don't forget them."

He exchanged an almost weary glance with Daine; by this point talking insects were barely worth a second look. Annoying talking insects were even less worthy of interest. "They are gods," he pointed out; _now I'm talking to bugs. I really have lost my mind. _"No doubt they replace their blood instantly. _We _are not gods." _Well, I'm not, at least, _he added silently, scratching a bite on his neck and avoiding looking at Daine.

"Mortal blood tastes best. It has life in it. The blood of gods doesn't."

_So we are good for something. Food. _Numair continued scratching the bite, irritated. "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am to deny you such a treat," he replied sarcastically.

"You know very well we could break that shield if we wanted to. We are _gods_, after all."

_So you all persist in reminding me, at length, _Numair grumbled to himself. He knew that the insects and even the plants here were stronger than he was; he didn't want the knowledge thrown in his face constantly. He was really starting to hate it here.

"What good is blood that is given so grudgingly?" one of the insects muttered.

"What good indeed?" he replied in as mild a tone as he could manage, abandoning the bite on his neck to scratch one on his arm.

"Selfish," something accused him.

"I hope Mauler eats you!" something else added. "It would serve you right!" Numair decided that the bugs whined more than the old conservatives at court. With this parting shot, the crowd of insects left them, and he let the shield drop to save energy.

"Broad Foot, what is this Mauler?" he asked finally, knowing that he almost certainly wasn't going to like the answer. "He looked like a crocodile in the image that Weiryn showed us."

"Lord Mauler is an older god of the People," the duckmole explained. "He is a link between crocodiles and the dinosaurs." _Oh, wonderful, _Numair thought, but before he could say anything Broad Foot added, "May we move faster?"

That was a very bad note to hear in a god's voice. Numair obediently lengthened his stride. "Why?" he asked warily, insect bites forgotten for now.

"Mauler isn't entirely friendly to trespassers. He puts up with them on his good days, of course," the god added, trying to sound optimistic.

"You're afraid today may not be one of his good ones?" Numair suggested, already knowing the answer. He didn't like crocodiles anyway. Nobody who lived in Carthak for any length of time liked crocodiles; it was hard to see anything good about them after the third or fourth time you had to stand and watch someone being thrown into the river for them. That had been the young Arram's first hint that possibly his friend wasn't completely sane; watching Ozorne's face when the animals tore their victims apart had been... unpleasant.

"Exactly," Broad Foot agreed, his voice disrupting the memory. They walked along the logs in silence after that; the hair stirred on the back of Numair's neck as the tension rose. Finally there was a ripple of movement, felt more than seen, and the bridge shivered under his feet; he swallowed, readied himself to reach for his Gift, and watched uneasily as – something – glided away just beneath the surface of the murky water and turned towards them.

"What the – " Numair managed finally, staring at a pair of eyes larger than his head. _Definitely not a crocodile._

"Lord Mauler," Broad Foot whispered somewhat unnecessarily; Numair had managed to work that one out all by himself. "Greetings to you, cousin!" the god called in tones of forced cheeriness.

"And good day," Numair muttered, breaking into a jog, relieved that the end of the bridge was visible. He was tempted to run, but Daine couldn't keep up with him at a full sprint – he was a foot taller than her, and most of it was leg length. He watched Mauler out of the corner of his eye; as they reached the last logs and gratefully stepped onto semi-dry land, the monster rolled in the water, creating a wave that soaked the travellers. _Oh, thank you. Thank you very much. _Grateful that at least none of it had gone in his mouth, since the swamp absolutely reeked and he definitely didn't want to drink it, he headed upslope away from the swamp.

"I don't know which is worse," Broad Foot muttered. "When he's cross, or when he's trying to be funny."

He wiped his face somewhat ineffectively with a damp sleeve. "If it's all the same to you, I won't stay around to study his moods."

* * *

The rest of the day was reassuringly uneventful and the landscape not openly hostile as they travelled onwards. Camping that night, it took Numair a while to fall asleep, but he wasn't at all surprised when Gainel's voice sounded in his mind as soon as he did so. –_We are running out of time. Come; I need to speak with you both._–

"Both? Daine as well? What – " Several questions blurred together in his head and he struggled to decide which one was most important.

Gainel sounded amused. –_Yes, I have been talking with her as well as with you. She is important and may have a vital role to play. Yes, again. And you can relax; I'm not taking you into her mind, or her into yours. This is something else._–

That was good to know, but Numair still wished the god would have let him ask the questions before answering them. He knew Gainel could read his mind, but he would have liked the illusion of privacy. Shaking it off, he thought of something else. "May I ask you something? The badger god has spoken in my dreams before. I don't think that is part of his power... Were you helping him?"

–_Your curiosity will get you into trouble someday, mortal,_– the Dream King answered, actually laughing. –_Yes, I offered a very small amount of aid. And no, I will not reveal my reasons._–

Numair hadn't expected it, really, but having his suspicions confirmed was something, at least. "Where are we going?" The god didn't answer; after a moment Numair realised he was alone. Frowning, he looked around; images began to form in the darkness, and he recognised a chessboard in red and gold. The Great Gods were lined up along White's back rank (ironically, Caissa – the goddess of chess – wasn't in evidence, Numair noted wryly); Black's back rank was more complicated. Uusoae stood on the queen's square, and a shadow stood next to her in the king's place. The knights and the priests appeared to be the Four Horsemen, as far as Numair could tell.

More importantly, Daine was watching the game as well, in the company of a wolf; he moved forward and saw her staring at the kingside rook, who appeared... _Yes, that is supposed to be my head. Lovely. _"That's Violence," he remarked dryly, resting a hand on her shoulder; she jumped at the touch, but didn't appear that surprised to see him. He looked at the queenside rook, who held Daine's head. _Thank you, my lord. I didn't need any more nightmares_. "With Discord, the gatekeeper of Chaos."

"Charming," Daine muttered sourly.

"It's their nature," the wolf beside her remarked, shrugging. Numair stared at the animal for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "They can't help being what they are."

"Daine, would you introduce us?" he asked mildly, letting his hand drop and studying the supposed wolf critically.

"I dunno," she replied, turning to look at the wolf as well. "Are you Rattail, or are you the Dream King?" She'd worked it out too, it seemed. _We aren't normal mortals, Lord Gainel._

–_I thought perhaps you would be less unnerved by hearing of these things from a friend,_– the god commented as he resumed his own shape.

"Maybe," Daine replied distantly, turning to look at White's end of the chessboard. Numair noted that the Graveyard Hag wasn't on the board; _then again, if she can't get rid of a Stormwing, I shouldn't think she'd be much good against Chaos, _he thought sourly. It was probably dangerous to treat the gods so casually, even just inside his head, but Ozorne's survival still rankled, as did the goddess' treatment of both Daine and himself in Carthak. "Where are you?" Daine asked Gainel.

–_Like you mortals, I have one foot in the Divine Realms, the other in Chaos. Lately that's been a most uncomfortable position._–

"Understandably," Numair replied sarcastically, pointing to Black's second rank as the pawns began to appear. "_Now _we have some answers!" Naturally, the king pawn was Ozorne; _nobody saw that coming. _It was the queen pawn that made Numair catch his breath, suddenly understanding why he was being shown this. He whistled softly between his teeth, staring at the tiny figure. "Inar Hadensra," he said quietly. "_That _explains far more than it doesn't."

"He's very powerful?" Daine asked.

"Yes, indeed," he replied, starting to see the shape of the future now. "And he serves only the Council of Ten in Scanra, not whoever they have as king that week," he added sarcastically, before looking at the rest of the pieces. The queenside priest and knight pawns were both familiar to him. "The Copper Islander to his right? That's Valmar, the third of King Oron's sons, carrying a general's baton. And next to him is Deniau, the high admiral of the Copper Isles, and Valmar's brother. Ozorne has powerful allies." _Damn him. How on earth did he get Hadensra onside? _The rest of Black's pawns were miscellaneous immortals, impossible to identify.

Now White's pawns began to fill the second rank of their end of the board. _This is a ridiculously overextended metaphor, you know. _Jon, Thayet and Alanna made sense. So did the Yamani general, whose name escaped him at the moment. He and Daine were the rook pawns at either edge of the board; between them were Tkaa and Kitten, which was strange. He would have expected Raoul and Duke Gareth, or Buri.

"I don't like being so far apart from you," Daine commented softly beside him, catching him off guard. He couldn't think of anything to say in response to that, and in the end judged it better to pretend that he hadn't heard; he didn't have much time to think about it, since now the pieces were moving. They watched in silence as White's pawns were systematically destroyed, before Uusoae proceeded to wipe out her own pawns and then White's ranked pieces. _All right, well, none of those moves were legal in chess, so your metaphor just broke down completely._

"I don't like that game," he remarked tightly, forcing a smile and doing his best to tear his eyes away from the square that held the image of Daine's corpse without seeing any of the other dead pawns. He was definitely gaining new nightmares. "Can we play a new one?"

The board straightened out and a new gambit began; this time the gold pieces fought back, splitting up and targeting specific opponents. Numair realised that this example didn't bear much resemblance to reality; Jon probably wouldn't be able to stand up to Hadensra, and he himself wouldn't waste breath on Deniau. Still, the point was made; kill a certain pawn, and Uusoae would appear. He wasn't certain why this was a good thing.

–_If she is behind this, she will come to avenge her servitor, the one who found a way for her to use mortal power without Father Universe and Mother Flame knowing,_– Gainel explained. –_Once she reveals herself, they will enter the matter, and end the fight. Gods and mortals will be safe again, at least for another thousand years._–

The chessboard vanished; Numair blinked in the sunlight streaming through the trees, utterly disorientated for a moment. Sitting up slowly, he cocked his head as the Dream King's voice echoed through his mind; the god wasn't actually speaking to him any more, though. –_Her ally may not be a spidren. It may be another immortal, or a human. Whoever it is, for the sake of your parents, humankind and the Beast-People, you must kill him, or her,_– the god explained to Daine, who was also awake. –_It is the only way to end the war._–

Dozens of questions were crowding Numair's head at the moment. He knew Gainel wouldn't answer most of them, if any at all, and finally snapped in sheer exasperation, "Why didn't someone just tell us what the problem was?"

–_Because the Great Gods believe that no problem exists,_– Gainel replied sourly. –_They say that no mortal would risk the destruction of his or her own realm by helping Uusoae to break the walls that keep her contained. I no longer argue with my brothers and sisters. They only laughed, so I gave it up. Farewell then, mortals. Good luck._– With that, the presence in their minds was gone.

Numair and Daine stared at one another in silence for a while. He could barely think clearly enough to sort out all the questions filling his mind; he certainly didn't have answers to any of them. If the Great Gods and Uusoae were on the board, who had been moving the pieces? That one was going to give him nightmares. So was the knowledge that the Great Gods were apparently incapable of controlling the actions of a single mortal and couldn't see what was happening. It was also somewhat unsettling to find out that sometimes people really _were _merely pawns of Fate. And it seemed he was going to be fighting Inar Hadensra when they returned, one of the most powerful mages in the world and probably near enough his equal. And Daine would be facing someone equally dangerous. Because the gods couldn't do anything.

"So... no pressure, then, magelet," he said finally, trying to keep his tone light. She laughed shakily in response, running a hand through her hair, a nervous habit she had picked up from him that even now made him smile. "If this is what it feels like to be chosen as a champion of the gods, I'm not very impressed with it."

"We got a lot more information this time," she replied mildly. "Which is nice of Gainel, I s'pose."

"This is probably at least partly my fault," he said thoughtfully.

"How?" she asked blankly.

He grinned at her. "Because every time I catch myself thinking that you can't possibly make my life any more peculiar, something dramatic always happens to prove me wrong."

Torn between laughter and outrage, she grabbed a pebble from the ground beside her and threw it at him. "That's hardly fair!"

Catching it deftly, Numair's grin broadened as he tossed it back to her. "Oh? You've caused every premature grey hair I possess, I'll have you know. How else would I get caught up in this mess, except by associating with you? I'm nobody's idea of a champion."

Batting the pebble out of the air, she grinned back at him. "Oh, I dunno. You have your moments. And as Da kept pointing out, it's entirely your fault that you're here."

"Imagine the trouble you'd be in if I weren't," he retorted, starting to laugh; gods, he'd missed this.

She sputtered a laugh. "You'rethe one who _gets _me into trouble, most times! And who had to rescue who at Temptation Lake?"

"If you children are quite finished?" Broad Foot's dry voice cut across Numair's attempt at a reply; not difficult, since the mage was laughing too hard to speak. "It's time to move on." _Lord, what fools we mortals be.

* * *

_

His surprisingly good mood lasted throughout the morning. Once again, Numair decided, _knowing _what they actually faced was making him feel better; at least now he knew what to expect, up to a point. And it felt good to have settled things between himself and Daine. He acknowledged now that distancing himself the way he had been had achieved nothing except to make him feel miserable; his feelings weren't going to go away and he wasn't willing to sacrifice their friendship in the attempt. Things were almost back to normal between them, and that simple fact was enough to make him happier than he had been in months. It wasn't quite everything that he wanted, but it was a large part of it.

Sitting by a stream to eat lunch, he leaned back on his elbows in the sun and let himself relax a little, determined to enjoy his good mood while it lasted. With this optimistic attitude, it was inevitable that something should happen to spoil it; a deafeningly loud noise echoed around them suddenly, making both humans yelp and try to cover their ears. It sounded like a door slamming, which was a very strange sound to hear in the middle of a forest. Before the echoes died away, an equally loud creaking noise further deafened them.

Through the ringing in his ears, Numair vaguely heard Broad Foot say, "Oh, my goodness. So it's come to that."

"Come to what?" Daine asked shakily, rubbing her ears.

"Follow me," the god ordered, heading towards the stream. Blinking to stop their eyes watering, they obeyed, crouching beside the duckmole as he breathed on the surface of the water. Images formed. Numair stared at the picture directly in front of him, recognising Port Legann in the midst of battle – complete with a giant semi-transparent hyena. _What the... _The thought dissolved; he knew what this was. _Slaughter._

He turned to look at the image in front of Broad Foot, knowing what he was going to see. The sunny wheat fields had to be somewhere in the south of Tortall; there were grape vines. And another oversized and insubstantial animal; an emaciated dog. _Starvation. That just leaves... _He eyed the water in front of Daine, watching the huge ghostly rat slinking through the streets of Corus. _Malady._

"Slaughter has been out since May," Broad Foot said quietly. "Malady, though, and Starvation – what you heard were the gates to their dwellings being opened."

"The Three Sorrows," he whispered, falteringly tracing the Sign against evil on his chest as though it would somehow help. Daine copied him, shivering.

"They are the siblings of the gods," the duckmole explained. "Their appearance causes great changes, many for the good – "

Numair opened his mouth indignantly, but Daine beat him to it. "I doubt the ones they kill think so." Broad Foot said nothing further. Numair looked at his friend; she was studying the duckmole, obviously thinking hard. He followed her gaze thoughtfully; the animal god was their last remaining ally. _Hmm. Well, let's see how far we get._

"You know," he said nonchalantly, as though just making conversation, "the more disorder that is created in the mortal realms, the more power that Uusoae will have to use. Or so it appears to me."

Daine looked at him for a second; he saw the half-smile in her eyes and knew he'd guessed right. Looking back at Broad Foot, who was starting to look suspicious, she nodded innocently. "I bet Chaos will feed on this," she agreed. "How can she not, when all three Sorrows are wandering loose?"

The immortal sighed heavily. "So that's it. You want me to halt the Sorrows." The duckmole looked away from them, scratching through his fur with one paw, obviously torn. The two humans remained silent, both knowing when not to push their luck any further. "I can't stop them all," he said finally. "They are strong. They ought to be, with humans feeding them for centuries. I can only hold one, and I'll have to remain in the mortal realms to keep it from breaking loose. The Great Gods themselves could do no better. Some powers cannot be ruled, even by the mightiest."

Numair and Daine stared at one another in silent dismay; they had a very difficult choice. "Who are we to say which roams free?" she whispered, her eyes wide. "If we ask to hold Slaughter, Malady and Starvation will kill hordes of folk – but if we hold Starvation, which kills slow, the other two will wipe out large numbers..."

He rocked back on his heels and fingered the bridge of his nose, thinking hard. "Armed humans can defend themselves," he mused. "Hopefully Starvation can be held at bay through food imports." Tortall was where the war was taking place; their allies were almost untouched. There would be aid available, for a while at least. If the war was still going when the food ran out, they would all die anyway and it wouldn't really matter. "But Malady..." He shuddered; he'd seen plagues before. "Malady doesn't care who it takes, or how many. Malady can wipe out armies and leave no one in the Yamani Islands or Carthak to farm the land." He'd made his choice, but it wasn't his decision.

"And it's just out," Broad Foot said reflectively, evidently agreeing with his reasoning. "It's weak still."

They both looked at Daine. Numair spared a moment to wonder why he'd decided that this was her choice; it was a terrible burden to lay on her. But it didn't feel right for him to choose, somehow; _she_ was the champion. He was definitely in a supporting role. She stared into the distance, her eyes troubled as she thought. Finally she looked back at them. "Malady," she said very quietly. "If it can be only one, let it be that."

The duckmole muttered to himself for a while before looking up at them both. "Stay on the path. It is a fixed thing, even on the Sea of Sand," he told them, reminding Numair of all their other problems. "It will lead you to the Dragonlands. Getting in, of course, is your affair."

"Of course," he murmured dryly.

Daine knelt beside the god. "I'll owe you for this, Broad Foot."

"So will I," agreed Numair, coming to stand beside her.

The god looked up at them with humour in his eyes. "It _is_ only fair. If you can force Uusoae to reveal herself, and save the mortal and divine realms, _we _ought to do some things for _you. _Be careful, then." With that, silver fire gathered around him, and he was gone, leaving them completely alone. That was a strange sensation after all this time; after all, since Daine had adopted Kitten, they had never been completely alone together. It reminded Numair of their very first lessons all those years ago.

"What will we do if the dragons refuse?" she asked him in a small voice; obviously it had been worrying her for some time.

_Magelet, you can talk gods into helping us. I don't think the dragons are going to be any better at resisting you. _Trying not to smile, he refrained from saying it aloud; he'd have to be even more careful now he didn't have psychic chaperones on all sides. "Fret about them later," he told her, gathering their possessions together. "I'm worried about crossing the Sea of Sand, if Rikash doesn't help us."

"What's wrong with the Sea of Sand?"

"I keep forgetting that we haven't both made a study of myths and legends," he commented wryly. He couldn't really teach her anything else about wild magic or animals any more; maybe he could move on to mythology. "The Sea of Sand is more than a desert. It's said the Great Gods take mortal heroes there – although Alanna the Champion never mentioned such an experience. If the hero survives, it is a sign that his – or her – mortal impurities have been seared away." _Although I think Alanna quite likes her mortal impurities, actually. So do I, come to think of it._

She winced and automatically looked up. "Please, Goddess, send Rikash with help." As they walked back to the path, she looked around at him. "I'm fair confused," she remarked. "If I'm in the Divine Realms, why do I look up to pray to the gods? Shouldn't I be looking somewhere else?"

Numair grinned. _Philosophy, magelet? You've definitely spent too much time with me. _"Thinking about things like that will give us both headaches," he answered wryly. "Although I believe that Shuilya Chiman had visions of the dead praying by looking down." He saw her smile – a blend of affection and tolerance for his bookish nature – and couldn't resist continuing, even though he knew most of what he was saying would pass her by; this really was just like those early days, and he was enjoying the memories. "Now, in the lost books of Ekallatum..."

* * *

Dozing through the hot afternoon until the cooler evening would allow them to journey on, Numair saw Jonathan's study. The king was working at his desk when a shrill whistle sounded outside and the door swung open; Jon looked up, frowning, to see a scarlet Kitten stalking in scolding at the top of her lungs. Tkaa stood behind her; the basilisk appeared to be smiling, as much as was possible.

"Tkaa, what – " the king began.

"Skysong was visited by the badger," the immortal explained. "She knows about the darkings, and more pertinently, the source of the news. She is not very pleased with you." That appeared to be an understatement; Kitten was furious enough that Numair wouldn't be surprised to see her bite Jon. Eventually the torrent of sound died to sullen muttering as the brilliant red colour faded a little; finally the dragon looked up with one final disdainful sound, then turned and stalked out with her nose in the air.

"What was that last?" Jon asked warily.

Tkaa's rasping laugh sounded. "She said, 'I told you so.'"

As the dream faded, Numair was smiling in his sleep. _That's my girl, Kit. We'll be home soon. _Waking up slowly, he yawned and stretched, relieved that his good mood seemed to be holding; he'd really had enough of feeling depressed now. Looking around in the twilight, he saw Daine was already up, crouching by the spring and studying the surface; he didn't like her expression. Sitting up, he asked softly, "Daine?"

She looked at him, then reached for her pack and began to gather her things together. "The Copper Isles is sending ten ships – they're flying battle flags – north. I think they're making for Legann."

Apparently her dreams hadn't been as pleasant as his. When they journeyed onwards as night fell, Numair told her about his dream, trying to cheer her up; describing Kitten's utter contempt made her laugh, although he knew she missed the dragonet. So did he. To his wry amusement, he discovered that he had been adopted by one of the darkings, when Jelly moved from Daine's shirt to his shoulder.

* * *

They walked on in silence for a time through the more open scrubland and rocks that they found themselves in, the path lit by the moon and by the flickering lights that still washed through the sky. Lost in his own thoughts once more, Numair was startled when Daine reached out and grabbed his arm; looking at her, he saw her pointing and followed her finger to a distant shape flying upwards. He watched the bird for a moment, wondering why she'd wanted him to see it, then as it turned on its tail he remembered her describing the sunbirds. The thought dissolved a moment later as brilliant flares of colour suddenly shot from the bird's body in silver, blue and gold; more came to join the first one, and Numair stared at what had to be one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

As though echoing his thoughts, he heard her whisper softly beside him, "Beautiful." Glancing sideways, he saw her face illuminated by the breathtaking display, and couldn't help but agree. His eyes returned to the birds dancing above them, and after a while he found his voice.

"I wish I could stay, or come back. So many wonders." It was the first time he'd really appreciated that the Divine Realms weren't completely unpleasant. They watched the display in silence until the dazzling colours faded and the birds returned to wherever they roosted, before continuing onwards through the increasingly rocky landscape.

This was the start of the Stonemaze. It looked similar to the vision Weiryn had shown them, although that image hadn't conveyed the creepy atmosphere. Walking through it at night didn't help; the shadows were deep, and the flickering warlights gave the illusion of movement at the edges of vision. There was a constant feeling of being watched. Numair shivered briefly; this place was making his skin crawl. _It's just rocks, _he told himself repeatedly, but it wasn't really helping. Jelly stirred on his shoulder, tapping the side of his neck; he focused on the darking and realised that Daine wasn't behind him any more. Turning, he saw her some way down the trail, staring at one of the rocks.

Returning to her side, he took her arm and drew her away from it. "I feel it, too," he said softly, wishing he hadn't spoken when his voice seemed to echo oddly. "I don't know if this place is dangerous, but I will be happy to get out of here all the same." It certainly _felt _dangerous.

The path dipped into a narrow ravine between two cliffs; it was very dark, too dark for human eyes really. Numair channelled a little power through the crystal on his staff to create light, and wished he hadn't when the shadows cast by the flickering glow seemed to stretch and move. His heart began beating faster and he shivered fitfully, Jelly ducking inside his shirt to hide, but he had to be able to see where he was going. The tension was tying his spine in knots and he almost yelped when Daine's voice broke the silence.

"Can you – put the staff out?" she asked edgily; he heard her swallow. "I – I think it makes things worse."

Numair nodded wordlessly in agreement and stopped lighting the crystal, standing still and blinking rapidly to try and regain his night vision as Daine moved into the lead. He saw her eyes gleaming and realised she had partially shifted; good for her. He didn't have that option. He saw well in the dark, for a human, but it wasn't helping much. Taking a breath, he followed her, reaching out to trail a hand along one of the cliffs to guide himself; _if I feel anything move, I'm going to scream like a little girl. _

Finally they reached the end of the canyon; the air grew fresher and the sky was starting to change colour as dawn approached, which meant that he could at least see where he was going now. Ahead of them he saw a huge boulder that had been eroded into... He fought back laughter, appreciating the irony of a giant stone question mark; it nicely summed up his mood for the past week. "Well, _that's _fitting," he commented; in front of him, Daine looked back and grinned.

The cliffs fell back; the path cut across the side of a mountain. It was also almost completely blocked by a Chaos vent, which would force them out right along the edge of the rock shelf; Numair looked past it to a pile of grey stones and frowned. Away from the atmosphere of the canyon behind them, his brain was working again. "Now _that's _curious. The indigenous stone is lava rock of the brown variety. These are different. They could be granite..." He moved closer to the spill.

"Indi – what?" Daine asked as she followed him.

"Indigenous," he repeated absently, still staring at the rocks. He couldn't tell what kind they were, which was strange in itself; they weren't quite like granite, but... "Local."

"Why couldn't you just _say _local?" she asked tartly. The sheer exasperation in her voice made him laugh as he reached out curiously with his Gift to examine the rocks.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, not particularly sincerely. Impulsively, he added, "I'd meant to do better than my university friends, and not upset people by talking in that abstruse fashion. Then my _father _complained. He asked how did he know that I even _went _to those expensive teachers when I spoke just as I always had?" And why had he told her that story? As far as he could recall, he'd never even mentioned his father to her before.

She grinned. "You never told me that! I s'pose once you get used to doing it at home, you forget the rest of the time." That wasn't really it, but he wasn't going to correct her. His relationship with his father, with his whole family, had always been very complicated and he didn't feel like explaining about trying so hard to avoid disappointing them any further. Besides, it was certainly too late for that now, almost ten years too late.

Changing the subject, he stopped examining the stone with his magic. "Those rocks _seem _all right."

A moment later he felt the familiar surge of wild magic and turned curiously to look at her; since when could Daine sense anything about rocks? She had closed her eyes and was obviously concentrating. As he watched, the colour drained from her face and she started to sweat; alarmed, he moved closer, looking around and trying to work out what was happening now. He couldn't see anything wrong, and if she was doing something complex then interrupting could be dangerous; unsure of what to do, Numair stayed where he was and watched helplessly as she began to shake. After what seemed an eternity but could only have been seconds, she raised her hands to her mouth; a moment later she yelped and seemed to come out of it abruptly.

Her eyes were horrified when she opened them, and he moved hastily forward to put an arm around her shoulders as the tears began to fall; he still had no idea what had just happened, but she was hurting and that was enough. Digging through his pockets for his handkerchief, he asked, "What happened? You're white, you're – "

Taking the handkerchief from him, she pulled away and wiped her face, trying to pull herself together. "They're touched with Chaos, those stones," she told him shakily. "If I try to use my wild magic to look at something like that, it – it pulls me in."

He frowned, processing this. "You shouldn't generalise from just one experience – " he began after a moment, once again having no real idea of what to say.

"But it _wasn't _just one," she interrupted. "This made me remember the _last _time!" Taking a breath, she elaborated. "With the Skinners. When I first found them, I tried to touch them with my magic and find out what they were. It's like – I don't know. Like they tore a hole in my magic. And I saw things, and heard things..." Trailing off, she shuddered and closed her eyes for a moment before continuing briskly, "I lost control of my shape, too, which is how I broke free of it. This felt the same."

Numair listened blankly, thinking hard. He had no idea why anything touched by Chaos should affect wild magic like this. Unless... Daine wasn't fully mortal. Mortals were half Chaos. If she had less, somehow, then maybe that would explain it. In any case, it could wait. "Then how did you break free this time?"

Daine reached up and touched her ear gingerly; there was blood on her fingers. "Leaf, you bit me, didn't you?"

The darking squeaked, "Sorry."

"Don't apologise. Do that whenever you think it's needful. You just saved me from maybe walking off a cliff." Numair wasn't sure that was completely fair. He hadn't known how to react, but he certainly would have stopped her if she'd headed for the brink. _If I'm about to start feeling jealous of a darking, maybe I should throw myself over the edge, _he told himself dryly, shaking it off.

"We shall delay the question of where it got teeth for now," he remarked, eyeing the blot quizzically for a moment. "Let's get away from here. Can you walk by those rocks, Daine?"

"Chaos gets me through my magic. I just won't use it," she replied, sounding more like herself. As always, he was continually amazed at her resilience. "And it's not like they're _alive, _after all." Turning to look at the narrow path they had to take, she swallowed. "You go – I'll come after."

Numair eyed the gap between the vent and the edge and felt a chill of foreboding slide down his spine. Telling himself briskly not to be such a coward, he took a breath and strode forward with a lot more confidence than he actually felt, refusing to look to either side as he walked along the narrow strip of solid ground past the vent and around the pile of grey stones. A heartbeat later he heard the sound of rock grating on rock and turned to look upwards, fearing a rockfall; then something grabbed him and jerked him off his feet. He tried to yell a warning, and something pressed across his throat, cutting off his air; automatically dropping the staff and raising his hands to try and loosen whatever it was, he felt stone under his fingers and tried in vain to get a purchase on it.

Vaguely aware of movement and a great deal of noise surrounding him, he scrabbled desperately at whatever was restraining him, his lungs beginning to burn as his body struggled for air. No good; the strange stone _things _weren't going to let go in a hurry. Were they golems, or maybe trolls? There were other monsters made of stone, surely, but he couldn't remember them right now, and with no oxygen reaching his brain it was unlikely he would recall. _Focus, Numair! It doesn't matter what they are! _Closing his eyes – his vision was starting to waver and blacken at the edges anyway – he concentrated and reached for his Gift, feeling the power flooding through him. His attacker cried out, or at least made more noise, and the grip on his throat loosened just enough for him to suck in a shallow breath; he began struggling harder, drawing more deeply on his magic. At the last moment he remembered Weiryn telling them to harm no stones, and hastily changed his mind, wrapping himself in a shield of black fire instead of trying to blast the things into pieces.

The creature holding him let go abruptly. Numair dropped and caught himself on his hands and knees, coughing as he dragged in a deep breath that burned the whole way down. After Temptation Lake, it was an all too familiar sensation. His throat hurt abominably and he couldn't have articulated a spell if he'd tried; collapsing and curling onto his side, he maintained the shield surrounding him and concentrated on breathing. Eventually the sounds died away; when he could hear nothing but his own blood pounding in his ears, he cautiously let the power slide away and looked around, relieved to find himself alone once more.

Sitting up, he gingerly brushed his fingertips across his throat; he was lucky the thing hadn't crushed his windpipe. Somehow he still had his pack, despite everything; he shakily unearthed his water bottle and sat back on his heels, sipping it slowly and trying to think. His recollection of the past few minutes was sketchy at best, but he did remember seeing Daine stepping back and lifting her bow, and there had been no sign of her since. The things hadn't got her, then, which meant she would be following them now to come and find him. Standing up, he began to retrace his steps, vaguely aware that he was shaking. _Even the landscape doesn't like me.

* * *

_

Picking his way back along the path, Numair wasn't really paying much attention to his surroundings, wanting only to rejoin his companion before something worse happened. Now even the rocks were attacking them; wonderful. He rubbed a bruise forming on his neck, relieved that his Gift had persuaded the things to let go of him; he hadn't had a backup plan.

A prickle of unease ran down his back; surely he hadn't been dragged so far along the path? Looking around, he frowned worriedly, recognising the rock shaped like a question mark not far off. And there, that was the Chaos vent that had spilled across the trail. He stared around him, his worry increasing; there was no sign of Daine, and no sound whatsoever. It only took a few moments for him to see the freshly-broken rock at the edge of the path, and for a moment blind panic obliterated his senses; breathing hard, he fought it off, shakily kneeling to stare over the cliff. There was a tree not far below, clinging precariously to the rock; even in the dim light, he could see branches missing.

_No. _Shaking his head in denial, he crouched lower, steadying himself as best he could, trying to see further into the darkness. _No! _Refusing to give in to the terror and despair building at the back of his mind, he swallowed hard, trembling as he stood up. He would not believe that she was dead, not yet. Fumbling with shaking fingers at his shirt sleeve, he exposed the bracelet suddenly visible on his wrist, closing his fingers over the locket that hung from it. Now he was glad he'd given in to the impulse to make it all those months ago. Closing his eyes as fire began to sparkle around his fingers, he concentrated desperately.

_There. _Relief almost drowned him; she was alive. Quite a long way away, though, as far as he could tell – he wasn't familiar with focus magic. Having gone down the cliff, she must have hit the river and been carried away; she was probably hurt.

The thought was all Numair needed. Without stopping to think about the consequences, he concentrated harder, his lips shaping words he had never used before as he drew deeply on his Gift; he wasn't prepared for the result. It felt as though he had been gripped in a vice; a wrenching kind of pressure tugged at him until he felt he would be pulled in half. Just when he couldn't stand it any more, something gave, and there was a disorientating sense of movement as the world blurred around him.

The movement stopped abruptly; he staggered and all but fell over, catching himself against a tree as he stared around in momentary confusion. He was near the river, surrounded by trees. _That worked better than I thought... _he thought absently, trying to catch up with what had happened. But where was Daine? The spell should have taken him right to her. He took a step and almost fell. _Oh. _He was out of power, dangerously so. A shiver ran down his back; he was lucky to have only been dumped short of his goal – trying a spell too powerful for what he had available could have killed him, and had they been in the mortal realms it probably would have.

It wasn't important. The sun wasn't far above the horizon; it hadn't been that long since they had been separated, Numair told himself. He had to find her; that was all that mattered. He turned his attention to the bracelet once more, carefully now, and automatically stared through the trees towards her; she was further downstream. _All right_. He started walking. When he noticed the first spidren web, he started running.

* * *

_Yes, that is where I'm going to stop. I am aware that every single one of you is screaming abuse at your computer screen right now. I'm sorry, I know it was utterly evil of me, but I truly couldn't resist. What, you thought I could only torture Numair? _

_Anyway, this was a very important chapter for a number of reasons, starting with Numair's first dream; now the Tortallans actually have a chance of winning the war. Mauler's Swamp is fairly self explanatory, I think, though it's a chance to start getting some humour back into the story._

_The chess game was fun just because of all the geeky references I could get in. Caissa, goddess of chess, is from our world and not Tortall; and as four of Chaos' major pieces weren't named, you get a cameo appearance from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse as well. Now Daine and Numair know what they're facing, and promptly dissolve into silliness which is at least partly gallows humour. It'll do them good to remember that they're friends, what with everything else going on._

_And the Sorrows are loose, otherwise known as a convenient plot device to get Broad Foot out of the way and leave the humans on their own. Daine and Numair are getting good at emotionally blackmailing gods; first the badger, now the platypus. It's good practice for Daine, although I don't think Numair's going to need it again._

_And a bit of a cute and silly dream for Numair; Kit said all along that they were still alive. Seems she's picked up a lot of annoying mortal habits from her adoptive parents, including the ability to say, 'I told you so.' Then the Stonemaze, and a bit of foreshadowing regarding Numair's family that has nothing to do with this story but is building up to a later one-shot I have planned. Plus lots of creepy atmosphere, some monsters made of stone... and the fall. Ahem. Sorry about that._

_I trust that I don't have to tell you what's going to happen in the next chapter, right? Please don't hurt me._

_**Loten.**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_There was a problem with the last chapter; it wasn't showing up for some people. That was FFN's fault; I don't know what they did. Grr. My apologies for that. It should be working now, so if you couldn't see it before, try again before reading this one! (If necessary, try going to Chapter Eight and changing the 8 in the URL to a 9 and getting to it that way). Hopefully this one will work correctly.

* * *

Not far now. _Numair slowed down, forcing himself to move more quietly; the focus couldn't tell him anything about what else might be there with her even if he had the strength left to keep using it, and the signs of spidrens were fresher. Rounding a bend in the stream, he felt his heart stop and he froze, his eyes taking in every detail of the scene. Three of the monsters stood together, apparently discussing something; beside them, all but hidden by webbing, Daine lay. She didn't appear to be moving...

_Too late. _Slowly, almost reluctantly, his heart began beating again. The world spun around him and he began to tremble as emotions roiled through his mind, a bleak haze of pain and grief and other darker feelings; the one that eventually won the struggle was rage. After everything they had been through, everything they had endured, this was too much. Dropping the pack he still carried, he raised the staff Weiryn had given him, reaching for the Gift he had stored in the crystal. The closest spidren blew apart in a spatter of blood and other fluids; it wasn't enough.

Numair was usually a fairly gentle man, and his self-control was iron; but this was more than he could endure. Even his mind had limits, and now he had reached them. No Gift left now; it didn't matter. Hatred such as he had never known filled him, directed at everything that had happened to him since last autumn, since Carthak; his life had not been his own since then, and the last few months had been overwhelming. But to have come so far, against such odds, only to have it end like this... It was too much. Now he truly had lost everything.

He ran straight at the closest of the two remaining spidrens, vaguely aware of flickers of blackness at the corner of his eye; the darkings seemed to be attacking the last monster. That didn't matter either. As grief and fury roared through him, his world spiralled down to a single dark point, the spidren directly in front of him. Silently, he raised the staff and swung, feeling the shock running down his arms as he made contact; the spidren hissed, and he swung again, and again.

Then the creature was backing away, turning to run. _Oh no you don't! _He pursued, only barely aware of what he was doing now; he just wanted to hurt it. Blood flew again, that all too human face now streaked with crimson; the staff crashed down into the centre of the thing's face repeatedly. It seemed to take a very long time before it finally stopped moving. Panting, he leaned against the staff, utterly drained as the rage left him, staring at the bloody remains.

He should really turn around, he told himself numbly. From the silence he knew the third spidren was dead somehow; he should check on Daine. But if she really was dead... He didn't want to know, he realised, wasn't sure he could survive it. There had been times in their years together when each had feared that the other was dead; he had been through this before. That didn't make it any easier. To lose her would destroy something in him once and for all. Taking a deep breath to stop his trembling, he gathered his strength, steeling himself for what he might find when he turned around.

"Numair?" Her voice struck him like an almost physical blow, but he wasn't sure if he had actually heard it or if he was imagining it. He felt extremely unstable at the moment, no longer certain of anything. Faint movements behind him, and she spoke again, hesitant now. "Please... are you all right?"

He turned slowly, his mind numb, and stared at her. "You – you're alive," he said jerkily. "I thought..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought aloud, beginning to tremble in reaction as the adrenaline wore off.

She staggered towards him, looking battered. "I hurt too much to be dead."

Oh, that was her; nobody else had that sense of humour. He dropped the staff and reached out, needing to reassure himself that she was really alive and safe, sweeping her into his arms. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he held her, and now he was shaking with the overwhelming relief flooding him, his mind no longer spinning but utterly blank.

She pulled back a little, not trying to get away, just far enough to look into his face. Their eyes met, and he hesitated, his resistance wavering and his mind too tired to overcome his emotions. He had been fighting this since Midwinter; since before that, really, although he hadn't realised it then. Now he stared into the depths of her blue-grey eyes and lost the battle at last; unable to fight any longer, he leaned closer until their mouths met.

Intellectually he knew the kiss was wrong, for a lot of reasons he had thought out months ago; yet at the same time nothing in his life before had ever felt so right. And she wasn't pulling away or fighting him, she was... _oh... _she was kissing him back, her lips parting beneath his own, almost more than his mind could comprehend as desire stirred and sudden heat ignited in his blood. For a timeless moment that might have been an eternity, he wasn't thinking, wasn't even really feeling anything much; nothing existed for him except her. Her taste, her touch, her scent, overwhelming every sense he possessed.

Eventually sanity returned, and he broke the kiss reluctantly, his breathing a little ragged. Almost in disbelief, he heard her whisper, "No," and her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him back down to her. The second kiss was gentler, softer; he was too tired and too uncertain of his self control for more. He brought the kiss to a close and drew away a little, half-laughing in a kind of stunned, exhausted joy. This couldn't possibly be real, and yet his dreams had never been like this.

She could barely stand. He wasn't much better off, yet from somewhere he found enough energy to pick her up in his arms and stagger to a rock a little way away from the bloody remains of the dead spidrens. Sitting, he cradled her in his arms, shaking. "Goddess bless," he whispered finally, his voice hoarse with all the words he couldn't say, gently brushing her curly hair back from her face. "Magelet, I thought I'd lost you." She buried her face in his shirt and he let himself simply hold her, his mind blissfully empty, at peace for the first time in months.

Finally the real world intruded again. They were both hurt and exhausted, and they still had a long way to go. "We need to rest and eat," he said softly, thinking aloud as he always did. "It'll soon be too hot to travel, and there is the path to relocate as well. If I remember correctly, this river is on the map. It parallels our route and emerges from this canyon near the path. Once you feel better, perhaps you could fly up and locate it. What do you think?"

When she didn't answer, he shifted slightly to look down into her face. "Sweet?" She was asleep. Part of him wanted to laugh; a larger part wanted to join her – falling asleep with her in his arms sounded like a very good idea. Sighing, he stood up carefully, cradling her against his chest; she snuggled closer without waking. Turning, he noticed the darkings nearby and smiled wryly. "Let's find some shelter," he told them.

The sun's heat was fierce by the time he found the cave, little more than a hollow under the cliff of the canyon wall. Carefully settling Daine well into the shade, he managed to gather firewood and found flint and steel in his pack, lacking the magical energy to light even a small fire. Digging through what remained of their supplies, he set a pot of soup over the flames to cook, his vision blurring with exhaustion and his thoughts sluggish; in the end the darkings took the spoon out of his hand. Deciding they had the right idea, he nodded thanks and sat against the wall of their shelter, asleep in moments despite everything that had happened.

* * *

All too soon, it seemed, he was woken by the darking's high pitched squeak. "Food done." At least he hadn't dreamed anything this time, or if he had he didn't remember. He opened his eyes, fighting off a yawn, and looked over at the fire.

"Very good," he told the darkings sleepily, then glanced over at Daine. Finding her awake and looking at him, he felt himself blush – to his intense annoyance – and looked away. Inside, he could admit that he was scared. He didn't know what was going to happen now.

"How in the name of Shakith did you find me?" she demanded. He fidgeted uneasily.

"It was merely a simple magic, Daine – "

"Mouse manure," she snapped. "D'you think I've lived all this time with mages without _knowing_ what it takes to find somebody _and _go to them?" He stared at the ground, wishing she didn't know him well enough to know when he was lying.

"I had a focus," he mumbled finally, reluctant to admit it.

"A focus?" she repeated. "Something of mine to connect us?"

"Yes – and I'm glad I had it," he added.

"Yes – but – may I see it?"

That had been the question he knew was coming, the one he dreaded. Now he regretted having made the thing in the first place; it had seemed the ideal solution at the time, something private he could daydream over without embarrassing himself that nobody else needed to know about, and at the same time a useful magical object. He wanted to refuse, but what reason could he give? Besides, she would find out sooner or later; he never should have kept it from her in the first place. Silently he reached out, the bracelet showing on his wrist, and let the locket fall into her hand, watching as she opened it and examined it.

The silence dragged out enough to make him even more nervous. When she finally handed the locket back, he broke and began falteringly to try and explain it. "I thought you might laugh if I asked you to sit for a portrait." He reattached the locket to the chain and let the bracelet vanish once more. "The painting was done by Volney Rain. The hair I got when you were delirious with unicorn fever six months ago."

Unable to sit there any longer, he stood and moved to the fire, spooning the soup into three bowls. He handed one to her, avoiding her eyes, and kept one for himself even though he didn't especially want anything to eat; the third he set on the floor for the darkings. This was so awkward now, and it hurt. Just hours ago he had been so happy; in the moments following their kiss, everything had made sense and all had been right with the world, but now reality was threatening to crush it all. She said nothing until they had all started to eat, and when she did speak she had changed the subject.

"What happened to you? What about those rock things?"

More relieved than otherwise by the change of topic, he answered. "They carried me off. I used my Gift to shield myself, but it took them some time to learn that _I _was the source of their pain. Once they did, they fled. When I returned to the Chaos-vent, and realised that you had gone over the cliff – " He stopped and swallowed hard, the memory of fear and grief stirring briefly.

"You can thank a number of trees and a deep part of the river that I'm reasonably alive." Daine moved to sit next to him, then scooted closer until he was forced to raise his arm clear and settled into the curve of his body, resting her head on his chest; a little of his tension eased and he relaxed fractionally as her warmth soothed some of the ache. "You're trembling," she murmured a moment later.

"I'm only tired," he lied. Tired, confused, happy, scared, overwhelmed; take your pick. "I used my entire Gift to reach you."

"You shouldn't have. You need it to defend yourself – and we still need to reach the Sea of Sand."

His arm tightened around her. "If I'd lost you and kept my power, I would hate myself." That was an understatement. It would have destroyed him. "Eventually magic returns, even after a draining. I had no way to know if _you _would."

She twisted a little to look up into his face and smiled, the expression warming his whole body. "It would take more than falling off a cliff to keep me from you," she told him, her words sending a shock through him. For a moment rendered speechless, he kissed her again instead, slow and lingering, still half-afraid that this would turn out to be a dream. It seemed impossible that this could really be happening, after all these months of longing and hurting. _Please, if this _is_ a dream, please don't ever let me wake up._

"I'd hoped you felt that way," he whispered, kissing her eyelids and the tip of her nose before finding her lips once more. He could so easily lose himself in her. Reluctantly, he forced himself to stop, and sighed. "I should look at your cuts."

Moving stiffly, she sat up, and he reached for his pack. When he glanced back at her, she was lifting her shirt, and he sputtered in sudden shock. "_Daine!_"

"What?"

He was blushing again, and cursed himself for it. He wasn't an adolescent any more! His legendary eloquence deserting him, he floundered for words. "You – we aren't – you should be clothed!"

"I've a breastband on, dolt," she told him tartly. "Besides, this shirt's in shreds – like the rest of me."

Both valid points, he had to admit, but even so... Vaguely aware that he was being stupid, he shifted position, trying to explain himself. "It just doesn't seem _right. _I feel that I'm... taking advantage of your innocence," he said lamely. "A man of my – years, and reputation – "

"'Taking advantage of'?" she repeated, interrupting him. "And _what _reputation?"

"You of _all _people should know that I've been involved with ladies of the court." He couldn't even remember them all now, and none of them had meant anything to him; he suspected he would always be ashamed of that part of his life. Besides, the gossips in the Palace and elsewhere had placed Daine in his bed for years. His reputation had been trash by then anyway, but she had suffered from being associated with him.

"What has _that _got to do with the price of peas in Persopolis?"

"It's easy for an experienced man to delude a young woman into believing herself in love with him," he answered shortly. "It is the basest kind of trickery, even when the man does not intend it."

"Do you love me or not?" she demanded.

"That is _not _the topic under discussion." Although truthfully he was losing his grip on the conversation and wasn't entirely certain what they were talking about any more. Oh, wait; why it was a good idea for her to stay away from him, and why he should have just kept his mouth shut. Yes. Awkwardly he fumbled through his pack to find Sarra's ointment; Leaf and Jelly brought water to him and he thanked them shakily.

Daine peeled the tattered rags of her shirt away. She'd been right; between the trees, the rocks, the river and the spidrens, there was barely anything left. Nor was there much remaining of her breastband, but it didn't seem important any more because he knew he was screwing this up and knew he was on the verge of ruining four years of friendship and love and losing everything that made his life worthwhile. Gently he began to smear ointment on the worst of the cuts, concentrating on the simple task.

"We're not talking about love?" He knew that tone only too well; she wasn't going to let this drop. "What are we talking of, then? Canoodling?"

She couldn't have hurt him more if she'd slapped him. His hand trembled as he continued mechanically rubbing ointment into her injuries. "Daine! Is that what you think I want?" he asked shakily, dismayed. "_Sex?_" And yet, why should she believe any different? There had been a great many women linked with him over the years. He'd been discreet, but the whole court knew his usual attitude to women as a whole. Aside from Varice – and look how _that _had turned out – the longest relationship he had ever had had lasted less than a week. He only had himself to blame. Even so, it hurt to realise she thought that little of him.

"It isn't?" Kneeling, she began removing her ruined breeches; he moved away without responding because there was nothing he could say. To say no would be a lie; to say yes was despicable. Meeting her eyes when she looked at him was the hardest thing he had ever done. Instead of the contempt or the distrust he had feared he would see, however, Daine merely looked puzzled; then sudden understanding dawned in her face, and he almost flinched as she reached out to grab his wrist, her fingers finding the chain there. "You're in love with me?"

Now she finally knew. He looked away. Truthfully, once he had had time to grow used to the idea, he had wondered how nobody had guessed it before; looking back now, it seemed so painfully obvious that he still couldn't believe he hadn't realised sooner.

"Love's fair wondrous. Where's the harm?"

He spoke before he thought, almost choking on the shame and hurt and utter confusion that had been eating at him for months. "I was 'canoodling', as you so charmingly put it, when _you _were four." Probably before then, but he'd been too depressed to try and work it out. A fourteen-year age difference was bad enough without analysing it any more closely. "You're so young, Daine. I knew that if I spoke, you might think yourself in love with me; you might mar–" He stopped talking abruptly, far, far too late.

"_Marry?_" she squeaked. "_Marry _you?" The incredulous disbelief in her voice at the idea finally broke something in him. He'd been a fool to think even for a moment that this could end in any other way. He couldn't make himself look at her.

"One day you'd turn to me and see an old man," he mumbled. "You'd want a young one." Unable to stand it any more, he stood abruptly and walked out of the shelter into the sun, barely noticing the heat rising from the rocks as he stumbled blindly down to the river and crouched by the water, staring into the shallows with eyes that threatened to fill with tears. It had been a stupid, foolish dream, nothing more. He wished now that he had held his silence and maintained his distance, spidren attack or no; saying nothing had been driving him insane, but this was so much worse. His dreams were in tatters; he had nothing left to cling to.

The simple truth was that he wasn't good enough for her. It had nothing to do with rank or power or anything so mundane; in truth, they were fairly equal in such matters, one reason they had worked so well together. She was simply a better person than he was, and she deserved better than him. Cupping water in his hands, he drank a mouthful and splashed the rest on his face, forcing himself to calm down, refusing to allow himself to think.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he heard her hesitant voice. "Can't we just go on as we have? This is a fair weight to solve when things are so – mad." He turned reluctantly, shading his eyes with a hand against the sun, strong as a Carthak noon; she had wrapped herself in one of his shirts and was looking at him worriedly.

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, although it wasn't a happy one. Here he was, falling apart internally, and she was being the responsible adult, the mature one. Gods, he was pathetic. "That is certainly true."

"I know I love you." The words hit him like a physical blow. "Maybe I always have – "

"Which is what I was afraid of." She ignored him.

"Once we're home – once the war's done – we can work it out. We'll talk then." Hope stirred; maybe he hadn't ruined everything after all. Maybe there was still a chance; and if not, at least he might be able to salvage their friendship. It would kill him to lose her now; nobody else understood him the way she did.

He stood slowly and reached to cup her face in his hands gently, leaning in for a kiss. "Indeed we will." Feeling slightly better, he retreated from the heat of the sun and turned his attention to the tasks that had to be done before they could move on.

* * *

Having finished altering some of his clothes as best he could – unfortunately he couldn't use his Gift without utterly destroying them; with the best will in the world, Daine was _not _going to be well dressed – Numair sat waiting for her to return from scouting their route back to the path, his mind in turmoil as he tried to process the events of the last few hours. He was emotionally exhausted, wrung out and drained by everything that had happened, and felt almost in shock. Going from crushing despair and icy terror at almost losing her to ecstatic happiness at her response to him so rapidly, only to immediately plunge back into the sea of doubts and fears that had haunted him for months, was almost too much to cope with.

_She said she loves me, _he repeated to himself for what had to be the hundredth time, still unable to quite wrap his mind around the sheer wonder of it. He wasn't certain he could let himself believe it; for all that she had seen and done, she was still so young, and they were both under a great deal of stress. Yet... this was Daine; he'd never seen her at a loss to understand her own emotions, she was too practical and common-sense for that. There was no reason to believe that she didn't know her own mind in this, as in all else, except that it seemed too good to be true.

Once the war was done, she had said. That wasn't likely to be for a long time yet. Even if they arrived back in the mortal realms tomorrow and killed Uusoae's pawn the same day – hardly likely – there would be months of work ahead before the fighting would cease. There was also the small problem of there no longer being a barrier stopping immortals from entering the mortal realms. It would take months if not years to sort everything out. Waiting that long would be almost impossible, but after all, he had waited almost half a year. In a way, he'd been waiting most of his life for this. He could wait a little longer; he'd wait as long as necessary.

It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He no longer had to watch everything he said or did; it was out in the open now. Waiting until they were free to talk was child's play compared to that dreadful, strangling silence. And there was a chance of something between them – he refused to let himself dwell too long on the possibility, but it was there. If it didn't work out, if his fears that she had made a mistake turned out to be true, at least there was a chance of staying friends; that wasn't just something he wanted but something he needed. Daine kept him grounded, kept him human. Her friendship was what mattered, but he still couldn't help hoping for more.

And their kiss... Numair had known so many women throughout his life that he barely remembered them all, but he had never known anything quite like _that_. If that was the difference being in love made, well, he clearly wasn't as experienced as he had thought. He might indeed have a 'vivid imagination' as the badger had said, but none of his wistful and sometimes desperate dreams and fantasies had come close to reality. Even now he could taste her, something sweet and fresh and clean that he craved like a drug. A quiet, wicked voice at the back of his mind – a voice that usually got him into trouble – whispered that if it had been that good when they were both exhausted and scared and hurt, what would it be like in better circumstances? He found it hard to imagine anything better, but he desperately hoped to find out.

"Daydreaming?" Daine's voice broke through his reverie, startling him so badly that he yelped and almost fell over.

"Don't _do _that!" he snapped breathlessly, aware that he was blushing again, caught in guilty thoughts. He hadn't been this easily embarrassed as an awkward adolescent. She grinned at him, entirely unrepentant.

"Sorry, but you should have been paying attention." She didn't ask exactly what he'd been thinking about so hard, which was just as well; he was reasonably certain she knew, anyway, since she wasn't quite meeting his eyes. Taking a breath to steady himself, Numair took a closer look at her and bit his lip to stop himself laughing.

"You look utterly ridiculous," he told her truthfully. He was a foot taller than she was; even hacked off short, the clothes he'd cut down were far too big for her. Even so, that small, treacherous voice whispered that the clothing looked better on her than it did on him; he shut it off hastily.

"In future, you'd better carry a change of my clothes in your pack," she agreed ruefully. "This happens fair frequently."

"Good idea. Although I would hope you could avoid falling off cliffs in the future, for the sake of my sanity if nothing else." Standing up, he stretched stiffly. "Did you find the path?"

"Yes. It's like you said, if we follow the river we'll meet it at the edge of the desert."

They set out again an hour later, once the sun had begun to set. Numair set the pace this time; he was more familiar with deserts, after all. It was such a relief to not be constantly feeling worried and guilty all the time; the continual nagging ache in his chest was gone. He walked without thinking of anything, his mind wonderfully empty and calm, almost meditating as they travelled. There were no sunbirds that evening; they walked on in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, as the air cooled and it grew dark.

Daine's voice broke the silence as they left the cliffs behind and emerged into more open country. "There are friends up ahead."

"Friends?" he asked, blinking. "Oh – you mean Rikash?"

"Yes. Barzha and Hebakh and their flock, too. They're up by the path."

_Strange definition of 'friends', _Numair thought wryly as they climbed up through the rocks onto the trail once more.

* * *

This had to be one of the strangest journeys of his life, he mused sleepily, eyes half-closed against the rushing wind. Still, he could get used to flying like this, with time to enjoy the view and no aching flight muscles to worry about. For the earlier part of the journey he had been discussing the war with Barzha and her consort, but the royal pair had left him alone a while ago. He watched the desert slipping past below them, only vaguely aware of the cold, until a familiar voice hailed him from alongside the sling.

"I have four words for you, mage."

"What?" he asked warily, lifting his head and looking at Rikash. Even in the darkness, he could see the Stormwing grinning at him.

"I told you so."

Groaning, Numair let his head fall back to the ropes of the sling. "Oh, shut up." Damn the immortal. He was _certain _Stormwings couldn't read minds; he was equally certain that Daine wouldn't have said anything. So how did Rikash know?

The familiar mocking laugh sounded as Rikash glided closer. "Admit it. I was right about Carthak."

"I have no idea," Numair replied with what little dignity he had left. "The subject hasn't come up."

"Bah. Don't split hairs. I was right about the two of you. She didn't say no, did she?" the Stormwing asked, leering at him in a way that Numair found decidedly unsettling.

"No," he admitted finally. "She didn't say yes, either," he added before the immortal could respond, wanting to wipe the smug smile off Rikash's face.

"The pair of you are far too stubborn for your own good," Rikash told him cheerfully. "Especially given that you're at war, and the fragility of human life, et cetera, et cetera. Seize the moment, and all that."

"I refuse to accept romantic advice from a Stormwing," Numair muttered. "It's pathetic."

"No, what's pathetic is that you need it. So what exactly _did _she say?"

Actually, Numair decided, the really pathetic part was that he did want to talk to someone about this. Well, part of him wanted to scream it to the world, but he'd been ignoring those kinds of impulses for years. Rikash was hardly anyone's ideal confidant, but in his own strange way the Stormwing was a friend, and had been surprisingly supportive. _A matchmaking Stormwing. Next thing I know, I'll discover that hurroks appreciate fine art and spidrens enjoy knitting. _Giving in, he sat up in the sling. "She said we'd talk things through properly once we're home and not fighting for our lives."

"Well, there you go," Rikash said encouragingly, before leering again. "And dare I hazard a guess that more happened than just talking?"

"None of your business."

The immortal burst into his raucous laugh again. "I knew it! Well, then, you have nothing to worry about. I know the pair of you well enough to know nothing would have happened unless you both wanted it." Abruptly the Stormwing's green eyes widened, and he began laughing so hard he lost height and had to flap his wings rapidly to return to his place beside the sling; apparently he'd just thought of something.

"I realise I'm going to regret asking, but what's so funny?" Numair asked warily.

Spluttering, Rikash managed to explain, "It just occurred to me; you do know that Sarra and Weiryn have been watching the pair of you since you left, don't you?"

Horrified, Numair stared at the Stormwing in dismay. That hadn't crossed his mind. "Oh, gods," he said in a small voice, cradling his head in his hands. "Aren't I in enough trouble already?"

Sniggering, Rikash replied, "Apparently not. When did this... ah, not-talking... happen?"

"Earlier today," he mumbled. "And it wasn't what you seem to be thinking."

"_That _would have been far more obvious," the Stormwing told him dismissively. "I think you're safe. We were at Weiryn's house earlier, getting these slings made. I don't think they were watching." He grinned. "I'm certain you would know by now if they'd seen anything. One of the animal gods would have brought a message of parental fury."

"You're so comforting," Numair muttered. _There must be some way of hiding from lesser gods... I really, really don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering if they're watching me. _

"You don't need comfort, mage, you need someone to tell you you're an idiot."

"I have a great many friends who do that already," he retorted, a smile tugging at his lips despite his embarrassment. It wasn't as if his personal life could get much worse, and if they survived the Dragonlands they would be too busy fighting a war to worry about anything else. If Sarra and Weiryn wanted to unleash divine wrath upon him, they'd have to get in line. He looked up at the Stormwing. "How did you know, anyway? It can't have been _that _obvious..."

"It wasn't, not to anyone who hasn't met you before," Rikash said kindly, if somewhat condescendingly. "Unfortunately, I can't seem to get away from the pair of you, and I have had a chance to observe your relationship changing. And when I saw the two of you earlier, you both seemed... more settled, somehow. _You _looked far less worried and uneasy, and she looked more confident, more relaxed." He smirked. "And you were smiling in a frankly vacant manner and looked like you'd been poleaxed. You probably want to work on that before you get home."

Numair smothered a laugh, suspecting that that was probably true. Poleaxed wasn't a bad description of how he'd been feeling. "Oh, shut up."

"Well, if you'd just listened to me, or better yet _paid attention, _you could have sorted all this out months ago," Rikash told him smugly. "You only have yourself to blame. Now, go into a trance or whatever it is you mages do before going into difficult situations; we'll be at the gate to the Dragonlands by dawn."

* * *

_Well... that was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster... And Numair doesn't really get time to sit and think about things for a while yet. He must be feeling dizzy. And Rikash probably isn't helping._

_Anyway, I hope this met with your expectations? I have to admit I was worried about this chapter in case I didn't do it justice... Let me know what you think. I'd like reviews from all the lurkers out there, too, this time, as this is the scene everyone wanted from the prologue of Teacher._

_**Loten.**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Well, that drew the reviewers out of the woodwork! Overnight we jumped to more than 300 reviews. Thank you all. I'm so pleased and relieved that you all liked it and that it struck just the right tone – I was trying to get as much in as possible without going too far. (One look at my favourites list shows that I love smut, and I'm sure a lot of you do as well, but the tone would have been wrong for this. There may be smut eventually, but not in this story.)_

_As you can probably guess, this fic is going to be a lot longer than the others. I would guess approximately half a dozen more chapters left? There's still a long way to go! So let's continue. Here be dragons...

* * *

_

Against all probability, Numair had slept dreamlessly throughout the rest of the night. He'd badly needed the rest, but as the slings were lowered to the ground he recalled vividly why it was a bad idea to sleep in a draught; his back was one vast muscle cramp and his limbs were painfully stiff. Picking himself up, wincing, he began carefully stretching the knots out of his body, trying not to look at the sheet of fire that was apparently their next destination.

"Our debt to you is paid," Barzha told the two humans quietly. "We are going now. If the dragons are unhappy with your presence, we prefer not to be nearby." _Thanks for the vote of confidence._

"Thank you," Daine told the royal pair more sincerely, before adding with a savage grin, "If you see Ozorne before we do, give him our regards." Numair nodded heartfelt agreement, feeling a mirror of her grin twisting his mouth. Barzha and Hebakh took off, leaving Rikash; the green-eyed Stormwing looked at them both before lifting a wing and gently tapping each of them lightly on the arm.

"Be polite to the dragons, and watch your step," he advised them, before flashing his usual half-mocking, half-genuine smile and leaping into the air after the others. Once the Stormwings were gone from view, Numair turned to survey the fiery barrier uncertainly.

"Now what?" Daine asked him.

_Magelet, if you haven't realised by now that I don't know everything, there is no hope for you. _He had no idea.

A disembodied voice echoed around them; a month ago that would have scared him, but after everything he'd seen recently it didn't make the dramatic impact that the speaker was clearly hoping for. "Go away, mortals. You will not be admitted to the Dragonlands. We wish to know none of your kind."

Mindful of Rikash's parting words, Numair chose logic over insult and kept his voice mild. "On the contrary, one dragon knows a great deal of us," he answered. "My companion is the guardian of the dragonet Skysong."

"The true guardian of a dragon is brave," the voice shot back after a moment. "You are shrinking, cautious beings." Numair looked at Daine, amused; there weren't many less apt descriptions for the pair of them. She looked more annoyed than amused, however.

"Oh, _really._" She stalked towards the fire before he realised what she was doing; it was real fire, not an illusion, but even if she knew that it wouldn't have stopped her for a second. Biting back the automatic urge to yell at her to stop, Numair followed, trusting her instincts and trying very hard not to flinch as the heat rose to almost unbearable levels.

He didn't like fire. Quite apart from his experience in Carthak, when he'd not only seen his own simulacrum burn but felt the pain of the burning, there had simply been too many accidents. Powerful, untrained mages tended to set fire to things with depressing regularity. Distantly over the roaring of the flames he heard Daine make a muffled sound of pain, and pushed forward into the fire without stopping to think.

It _hurt, _but it was over in an instant and he stood on the other side of the fiery curtain, drenched in sweat and breathing hard. Looking around, he saw Daine looking completely unharmed and barely resisted the urge to strangle her; _I swear, magelet, you will kill me one of these days. _Before he knew what he was doing, he'd dropped his possessions and seized her by the shoulders the way he had when she was younger and had done something equally stupid and dangerous.

"Don't you ever – _ever _– frighten me that way again!" he snapped, shaking her to underscore his point – not that she would listen. She never had before. Still fighting for breath, he hugged her fiercely, then pulled back to glare down into her face. "_Ever,_" he repeated as sternly as he could manage. She still looked far too composed; the little voice at the back of his mind took over and he lowered his head to kiss her hungrily – purely to reassure himself that she was all right, he told himself in the moment before all rational thought dissolved.

When he finally let her go and moved away, she was flushed and breathing hard – which was distracting in itself – but grinning mischievously at him. "I don't know," she observed a little breathlessly, "I like this particular kind of tantrum." His mind promptly went off down a very interesting path even as laughter rose in his throat, and it took a moment before he absorbed the rest of her words; "Besides – at least now they know we're brave enough."

"Speak for yourself," he replied shakily, reluctantly stepping back from her and wiping his face.

Her grin faded into a sudden look of worry. "The darkings? What if they – "

He felt Jelly move under his shirt as Leaf emerged from Daine's belt purse. "Warm," the leaf-wearing darking announced cheerfully. "Fun."

_That thing is insane. _Privately Numair found Jelly's reaction far more understandable, as the darking crawled onto his shoulder; he could feel it shaking. "I know it wasn't fun for you," he told it softly, running a finger over the darking's body.

"Fine now," it assured him, stretching up to eye level. "Get stick." Fighting back laughter, he obeyed, grinning as he retrieved the staff Weiryn had given him.

"Wait," the disembodied voice boomed, sounding somewhat put out. "Guides will come for you."

* * *

Their guides turned out to be two young dragons, a white one twice the size of Kitten who introduced herself cheerfully as Icefall, nicknamed Scamp, and a larger grey named Steelsings who apparently went by the name of Grizzle. Numair felt slightly less stupid about Kitten's nickname now. The pair talked virtually nonstop as they led the humans into the Dragonlands, until Numair was worn out trying to answer all their questions – they were worse than Alanna's twins, which until now he hadn't thought possible.

"Is your grandfather the, um, king?" he asked Grizzle when Scamp finally seemed to have run out of questions.

–_King? What's a king?_– the white dragon asked instantly.

–_They rule mortals,_– her cousin explained to her. –_The male ones, that is. The female rulers are queens._–

–_Oh. But you'd always have to change them, wouldn't you? Since they're always dying?_–

That response nearly destroyed Numair's composure completely. Avoiding Daine's eye, he left her to answer, struggling desperately not to laugh. It only got worse when Scamp said gravely, –_I wouldn't like to be mortal. Uncle Moonwind has been teaching me about mortality. It sounds uncomfortable._– Numair bit his lip fiercely, shaking with the effort of not laughing, and it took a moment before he got himself under control. The young dragon had made an excellent point; mortality was uncomfortable. And yet, given the events of the past few days, Numair wouldn't have traded it for anything.

When he could breathe again, he listened as Grizzle said, –_He's not really our uncle. Just like Grandsire isn't our grandfather, exactly. He's our great-great-great... I don't remember how many _greats._ There are a lot of them. Grandfather. He's the oldest..._–

–_No, Moonwind, Rainbow and Cometfern are older._–

–_He's the biggest... _Now _what are you looking at?_– Both young dragons looked up, and after a moment Grizzle said uneasily, –_Uh oh._–

Exchanging a resigned look with Daine – _what now?_ – Numair followed their gaze and saw a large blue and green dragon approaching them with a less than friendly attitude. He was almost twice the size of Flamewing. "Is there a problem?" Numair asked their guides, already knowing the answer.

–_It's Jewelclaw,_– Grizzle answered quietly. –_He's not very nice._–

–_He can't do anything,_– Scamp said defiantly and unconvincingly. –_They're here to see Grandsire, not him._–

The dragon landed and began stalking towards them, each movement slow and deliberate. Numair's skin began to crawl as magic flickered and danced across the blue and green scales; dragon magic bore little or no resemblance to the Gift, but he could still feel it. This was not a happy dragon. Taking a deep breath, Numair held it for a long moment, then let it out before repeating the process, calming his pulse and keeping control of himself; this was unlikely to end well.

The first time Numair had encountered a dragon, she had shaken off his Gift as though it was nothing, and performed feats he had thought were impossible. In the four years since then, however, he had learned a lot about his own magic and a lot about dragons, having spent a long time working with Kitten and speaking with Tkaa, and he knew several things he hadn't known then. Even so, he would definitely prefer not to test his theories.

–_Who let _mortals _into the Dragonlands?_– Jewelclaw roared. –_You two will find this to be more serious than your usual pranks!_–

–_You can't touch them!_– Grizzle yelled. –_They are under Grandsire's protection._– Both young dragons were clearly terrified, but just as clearly determined not to let that stop them. _And all this time, I thought Kit had picked it up from Daine. Must be a dragon thing, _Numair reflected absently, never taking his eyes off the adult dragon.

–_Then Diamondflame will answer to the Dragonmeet! Out of my way!_– Abruptly Numair realised who Jewelclaw reminded him of; the dragon sounded like a much louder version of Lord Martin in a temper. Biting his lip, he wondered briefly why he wasn't scared, as any sane person should be when faced with a furious dragon; the thought dissolved when Jewelclaw roared again. –_They will be my captives!_–

Daine stiffened beside him, and Numair almost snarled. They had both been held captive before; neither of them were inclined to allow it to happen again. Very slowly, Numair began reaching for his Gift, but Scamp beat him to it. –_No! She's the one who's raising Skysong!_–

_What about me? _Numair thought somewhat indignantly, letting his magic slide away from him. Jewelclaw growled. –_Raising? Or _imprisoning?–

Definitely like Lord Martin. The best way to annoy the old noble had always been with logic; Numair used the same tactic now, folding his arms across his chest to try and hide the tension filling him as he replied mildly, "If you know anything about the young members of your race, you know that captivity is not an issue. I do not believe there is a cage that could hold Kit – Skysong, if she wished to get out." Certainly he hadn't yet found a locking spell she couldn't undo. To his amusement, the darkings started scolding the dragon in shrill voices – almost painfully shrill, since Jelly was very close to his ear.

–_Must we tell Grandsire you took them from us?_– Grizzle asked steadily.

More than ever, Numair was reminded of the old conservatives at court, as Jewelclaw blustered, –_The old newt has gone senile! And I'm not the only one to object! I'm not finished with this!_– Without giving them a chance to respond, the blue and green dragon leaped into the air, creating such a backwash of air that all four of them staggered. Numair hadn't realised that dragons could be childish before; Kitten was only just over three years old, but she had never acted like this.

–_He is _not _senile!_– Scamp yelled after the departing dragon, before muttering sullenly, –_I bet his mother was a wyvern._–

Numair tried not to grin; evidently that was a very serious insult amongst dragons, as Grizzle said in a scandalised voice, –_Scamp!_–

–_I don't care,_– the younger dragon snapped. –_He's rotten. He's _always _rotten. Come on, before anyone else comes after us._–

It was only a few minutes later when another voice reached them, as they were crossing a bridge made of what looked like spun glass. Numair was wondering absently why none of the bridges in the Divine Realms seemed either sensible or well made when a new voice echoed around them. –_There has been a change._–

–_Grandsire, Jewelclaw came and yelled,_– Scamp shouted indignantly.

–_I know it,_– the voice growled exasperatedly. –_He and the other Separatists have been dinning my ears ever since our guests came through the portal._– Numair made a mental note that Separatists seemed to mean the same as 'conservatives' back in Tortall. The voice continued heavily, –_They have called the Dragonmeet._–

–_Uh oh,_– Grizzle whispered for the second time in ten minutes. Evidently the Dragonmeet was not a good thing.

–_Take them to the amphitheatre. Do not enter the floor with them, mind. Sit among our people._– The voice faded, leaving Numair wondering uneasily what was going to happen now. He didn't like the sound of this.

–_Turn back,_– Grizzle advised softly. –_At least it isn't far to go._–

Daine and Numair exchanged glances. Turning back wasn't an option; they needed to get back to Tortall as quickly as possible with the information Gainel had given them. Otherwise the war would drag on, and they would lose.

* * *

The Dragonmeet turned out to be a huge coliseum. Possibly it had originally been a volcanic crater, or maybe it had been specifically built by the dragons as a meeting place, but right now Numair wasn't disposed to worry about it. There were quite a few dragons here, and the strange sense of their magic was humming in the air. If things went badly the two humans would die so quickly they probably wouldn't even realise it. He and Daine looked around apprehensively; after a moment he spotted Jewelclaw off to the west, talking to a much bigger dragon.

–_The pearly one, that's Moonwind,_– Grizzle explained. –_She's one of the oldest. Her grandson Summerwing was the last dragon to willingly visit the mortal realms. That was before the Dragonmeet put a ban on visits. Um..._–

–_Stay away from Moonwind,_– Scamp advised leadenly. –_She isn't even nice to people she likes._–

Numair looked more closely at the pearlescent dragon, focusing on the feel of her against his senses; she made his bones ache, more than Jewelclaw had. "Just how old _is _this dragon?" he asked.

–_Fifty five centuries, I think,_– Scamp replied uncertainly.

–_Fifty nine,_– Grizzle said. Neither young dragon seemed to think it was that important, but Numair wasn't prepared to lightly dismiss almost six thousand years of knowledge when it was probably going to be directed at him. Moonwind clearly did not like humans. –_Come on,_– the grey dragon continued. –_This way._–

"Your grandsire said you weren't to come with us," Daine pointed out softly. Numair glanced at her; she was looking around the arena still, her eyes constantly moving. She had clearly picked up on the atmosphere as well; he wondered what her magic was telling her. Movement caught his eye, and he looked around to see a mob of young dragons crowding around them, ranging from four to twenty feet long. _I actually feel short. That hasn't happened since I was fourteen._

–_We'll _all _escort you,_– Grizzle declared. Numair wasn't particularly surprised when the dragons immediately began asking questions as the peculiar group began the descent to the arena floor. Glancing at Daine, he began to answer them patiently as best he could, leaving her to watch for trouble. Abruptly a sense of pressure filled his head, and a heartbeat later a sixty-foot black dragon appeared from nowhere so close that the air she displaced sent them staggering.

–_Aunt Nightbreath!_– Grizzle greeted the dragon shakily. –_You're not supposed to materialise so close to everyone else!_–

–_Oh, tut,_– the dragon replied in amusement. –_I haven't fouled anyone in a materialisation since I was _your _age._– Dragons couldn't grin precisely, but Numair was pretty good at reading their expressions after four years with Kitten, and could see the wicked humour in the black eyes now studying them – in a peculiar way, this dragon's attitude reminded him of Alanna. That was oddly comforting; if there were progressives amongst the dragons as well as conservatives, maybe there was a chance. Nightbreath continued mildly, –_I was in a hurry. This may be my only chance to see humans before these two are made into fertiliser for Moonwind's rose bushes._–

_Definitely Alanna's sense of humour, _Numair thought as their young escort protested. He was no stranger to gallows humour and had used it himself a great deal throughout his life, but it really wasn't helping now. Apparently Daine agreed; he felt her hand touch his hesitantly and linked his fingers through hers, squeezing gently in an attempt to be reassuring. This was surely the most insanely dangerous thing they had ever done. When they reached the centre of the amphitheatre, there was a long moment of expectant silence before three unbelievably huge dragons appeared atop the rim. _If any gods are listening, I think we could use some help._

–_That's Wingjade, my father,_– Scamp whispered of the biggest dragon.

"Big," Leaf commented.

The sheer inadequacy of the remark left Numair lost for an answer; Wingjade looked about a hundred and twenty feet long. From inside his shirt, he heard Jelly's soft voice reply, "Too big." He agreed with the darking. Daine gripped his hand more tightly; he was holding her hand every bit as hard, starting to feel truly scared now and doing his best not to show it. Not only did he want Daine to think he was confident that they would succeed here, these were predators, and showing fear would probably get him eaten.

–_We start,_– a golden dragon declared. –_Diamondflame is charged with ignoring the will of the Dragonmeet, and with permitting humans to enter the Dragonlands. Humans, the question is asked; why have you come here?_–

"You should do the talking," Numair told Daine with some reluctance. "You are Kitten's guardian." Besides, stubborn and defiant though she could be, she was less likely to say something insulting and get them both killed; Numair had problems guarding his tongue when he was frightened.

–_No one cares what they _want!– a black-and-white dragon shouted, rearing up to speak. –_Kill them! Kill them, and bring Skysong home!_–

_I don't think I like you either, friend, _Numair thought, before taking a moment to be grateful that the dragons couldn't read his mind.

–_Our law bids us to first hear what they have to say,_– another dragon pointed out. Numair wasn't sure that logic was going to have much of a role in this, but at least not every dragon here was automatically homicidal.

Moonwind reared up and spoke. –_They and their defenders lost their right to claim justice under our law when my grandson was murdered by their kind. _Look _at them. Already they cause trouble here. Already they try to seduce our young away from us._– If Moonwind could read Numair's mind, he suspected even a six thousand year old dragon would be shocked by his choice of language.

–_We aren't seduced!_– one of the young dragons surrounding them shouted unwisely. –_They're new; they're different. We could learn from them – except you and your crowd have closed minds!_– More and more, the dragons were reminding Numair of the court in Corus, both his friends and other nobles.

–_Silence!_– Moonwind roared. The word had odd harmonics and sent power flickering across the mage's skin; the young dragon who had challenged her began scratching frantically at his muzzle and whimpering.

–_Now you've done it,_– Grizzle whispered to the unfortunate victim. –_You'd better hope she takes the Silence off you before you get too hungry._–

–_If you felt that humans were not to be treated with under our law, Sister Moonwind, you should have amended the law in the four centuries since your loss,_– another dragon snapped. Four hundred years seemed a very long time to hold a grudge, Numair thought, but then again, if you were six thousand years old anyway, maybe it wasn't. The speaker continued, –_You know as well as I that all changes in law must be reviewed, debated, and considered. You cannot demand that it be changed here and now._– More than ever, Numair could only think of Jonathan arguing with the conservatives.

Daine had always found these sorts of arguments as dull as he did. "Excuse me," she said mildly, trying to answer the first question. Nobody was listening any more; several arguments had broken out over obscure legal issues. _Living for millennia really gets boring if this is the kind of society they've invented, _Numair decided, finding himself less afraid now as Daine repeated more loudly, "Excuse me!"

Gently letting go of her hand, he slid his fingers under her hair to rest at the nape of her neck, smiling slightly as he reached for his Gift. "Try again," he murmured. This wasn't the spell he had thought he would end up casting here, but if it worked he wasn't going to argue.

"_EXCUSE ME!_" Daine yelled. At that volume, the words lost their polite meaning; Numair realised he might have overdone the spell a little and cautiously reduced the strength as she winced before speaking more quietly. "All we want is to go home – that's it. We don't like being here any more than you want us. So, if you could take us back to the mortal realms, we're quits."

–_No one asked you,_– Jewelclaw snapped.

_Actually, the golden dragon over there asked us, about five minutes ago... _Numair left the retort unvoiced, because the blue and green dragon was walking towards them down the ramp and magic was sparking and crackling across his scales.

–_You _humans,– the dragon continued in tones of profound loathing. –_How could we have allowed you to continue to exist, with your murderous hearts, your waste, and your noise? It's time to scour the mortal realms clean. We can start with you._–

Something gave way in Numair's mind. Partly it was anger; he and Daine were risking their lives to stop the Queen of Chaos, which would save the dragons along with everything else. Mostly, however, it was a far more primitive and possessive response; nobody threatened his Daine. Not the gods, not people, and not dragons. He took his hand from Daine's neck and stepped clear, reaching for his Gift. "You _dare._"

–_Do you think we fear you, mortal?_– the black-and-white dragon asked. –_No human can face down a dragon!_–

_Do you think I care? _he answered silently, absently fishing the darking out of his shirt and handing it to the closest dragon – Scamp – before slowly walking forward, stalking towards the approaching dragons as his power built around him. Abruptly he remembered Broad Foot speaking; _here, magical laws are what you make them. Here, I can do things I would never normally attempt. Here, maybe I'm not as helpless as I thought. _He drew more deeply on his magic; there was so much power in the air here, he might as well use some of it. His skin began to tingle with the effort of containing it.

A new voice murmured, –_There are mortals who may battle us on an equal footing. Not many, but some._– Numair glanced over just long enough to observe the ancient mottled dragon with white eyes who had spoken, before returning his eyes to the more immediate problem as the old male continued, –_Your coterie has chosen to ignore that which does not add to your overweening selfishness in regard to which species have importance, and which ones do not... Or are you merely stupid? I never could decide which it was, although perhaps I should have._–

Numair very nearly applauded. He'd never seen such a masterful display of contempt. Had he not been facing several very angry and now somewhat humiliated dragons, he would have taken the time to enjoy the moment. As it was, he didn't dare look away from the dragons on the ramp as the black and white male snapped, –_You do not understand the matter, Ancestor Rainbow!_–

–_Do I not?_– Rainbow asked mildly. –_Well, you are entitled to your opinions, Riverwind, however foolish they may be. I too am entitled to my opinion, which is that I grow weary of your bad manners. Leave the Dragonmeet._– The last three words rang with compulsion magic; Riverwind reared, screeching, as pressure screamed along Numair's senses, then vanished. There was a long silence, before every dragon present shouted at once in a thunderous roar.

One voice came through clearly; Jewelclaw howled, –_The humans are mine!_– The blue and green dragon continued his advance down the ramp towards them, but that wasn't the most immediate problem since Moonwind had half-reared and raised a paw, her wings unfurling. Numair gritted his teeth against the pressure as the magic inside him screamed for release, turning to face her through a haze of raw power, silently daring her to try.

A bird screeched behind him, and a goshawk shot past him towards Jewelclaw; Daine had entered the fight in her own way. _Be careful, sweet, _he begged silently, his eyes flicking between Moonwind and Jewelclaw; no chance of stopping them both. He drew even more deeply on his reserves, the building pressure in his body starting to hurt.

–_Enough,_– Diamondflame's voice snapped. Everyone froze. The dragon uncoiled himself in a leisurely fashion from the far side of the amphitheatre and descended to the floor. Not the biggest there, but big enough at eighty feet, and with an aura humming around him that made Numair's bones ache. He wondered vaguely if it was a good omen that Diamondflame's scales were Conté blue.

–_When did my _personal _invitation to guests of my clan become a matter for every wing and claw in the Dragonlands to discuss, and interfere with?_– the blue dragon asked coolly, before turning his head and staring at Moonwind. –_I understand your grief for your grandson, Moonwind, but only to a point. With no law passed by the Dragonmeet, I am entirely within my rights to welcome my grandchild's guardians to my home. It should not matter if they are humans, dragons or dragonflies. They are my guests, and no business of the Dragonmeet!_–

–_Ancestor Rainbow, I demand a ruling,_– Moonwind hissed. Apparently she didn't take lightly to being told off. Numair returned his attention to her, struggling to focus past the power raging inside him. –_Humans in the Dragonlands are no matter of personal choice, as Diamondflame has said, but of the will of the Dragonmeet. I vote to dump them into the Sea of Sand and let them cook._–

Numair glanced upwards at the circling goshawk and smiled to himself. Dumping the pair of them into the Sea of Sand would work for about thirty seconds, until they both shapeshifted and flew high enough to escape the worst of the heat. Besides, he suspected that Rikash and the others were still nearby. Part of him couldn't help but wonder why humans in the Dragonlands posed such a problem; he was fairly sure he could take down either Moonwind or Jewelclaw, and possibly even both if it came to it – although that would probably kill him – but that would be it, and Daine probably couldn't manage that much. They were hardly a threat.

–_Will the Dragonmeet now tell each dragon what guests to have, what to read, when to have children?_– Diamondflame countered. –_I am within my rights, the ones granted to me and to every dragon by the Golden Dragonmeet, to accept the visit of the guardians of my grandchild, without certain _meddlers _getting involved._– Tempers were running high; Numair shifted his footing, wishing that something would happen one way or the other soon. He could only hold so much power for so long.

–_Now he calls 'meddlers' those who only wish to see dragonkind return to power in all the realms!_– Jewelclaw shouted.

_All the realms? _Numair wondered. _I think Uusoae and the Black God might object to anyone else having power in their domains. And I doubt Mithros and his siblings want the dragons to be any more powerful here than they already are._

The blue and green dragon continued hotly, –_Have you old and conservative ones turned to wyverns and salamanders?_– To have someone so reminiscent of Lord Martin calling someone _else _'conservative' nearly destroyed Numair's composure completely.

–_Humans or no humans, I must say that I have not heard such insolence from the young in the last thousand years as I have heard today,_– Rainbow observed mildly, but with a distinct edge to his voice.

_That's us, _Numair thought cheerfully. _I've always been a bad influence._

Stiffly, the ancient dragon uncurled and padded into the arena to stand beside Diamondflame. –_I will judge now._ _I ordain as Rainbow Windheart, governor of the Dragonmeet, oldest of the Firefolk, with a hundred centuries under my wings._–

_Ten thousand years... _Numair was too stunned to even swear. No wonder Rainbow's presence this close was an ache.

The blind dragon continued solemnly, –_By the Compact of the Godwars and the vote of the Golden Dragonmeet, I speak for all of us, until the day comes that I am taken back to Mother Flame._– The dignity of his words faded as he turned his head and said in a very different tone, –_Out of my sight, Jewelclaw. If I see you before a century has passed, I shall not be so kind again as I am right now._– The air screamed, and although Numair saw nothing he could feel the magic that Rainbow directed at Jewelclaw.

The blue and green dragon dodged to one side, snarling, then leaped into the air and lunged straight at the goshawk still circling above them.

* * *

Rainbow reacted at the same moment Numair did; dragon magic overcame the Gift and wrapped itself around Daine. Numair brought all his strength and power to bear and turned to face Jewelclaw, shouting a wordless challenge as he lifted a hand; black fire crackled and smashed into the dragon, who howled and thrashed as the sparkling magic fouled his wings and brought him crashing to the ground.

"Daine!" Numair gasped shakily, turning his head to glance towards her out of the corner of his eye, not daring to look away from Jewelclaw who was struggling to his feet, silver claws tearing gouges in the earth.

–_I have her,_– Rainbow told him reassuringly. Dizzy with relief, Numair turned his full attention back to the fight as Moonwind roared in outrage and lunged towards him. The pearlescent dragon's magic rose in a flood and rushed down over the mage; Numair braced himself and reached deeper, wrapping his aura around himself as power screamed through the air and the pressure bearing down on him increased tenfold.

Whether it was the different laws of the Divine Realms, or whether Moonwind had badly misjudged him, or whether he knew more about dragon magic on an instinctive level than he had realised, Numair didn't know. It didn't matter, much; what mattered was that when Moonwind's magic faded, the mage was unharmed – and angry. Shaking off the lingering feel of the dragon's power, Numair backed up a few paces, moving towards Rainbow and risking a glance back; Daine was in human shape again, unconscious, but breathing. –_She's not hurt,_– the blind dragon promised him softly.

–_Not yet,_– Jewelclaw snarled, finally regaining his footing. It was the worst thing the dragon could possibly have said. Numair struck without hesitation, refusing to think about the fact that Jewelclaw was in all probability more powerful than he was and was certainly more knowledgeable. It didn't matter. For Daine, he would have faced anything, _anything. _Snarling a breathless curse, he _pushed _against the dragon's power, knowing that if he gave ground by so much as an inch that he would lose. Jewelclaw's snarl rose higher, and the blue and green dragon actually staggered, off balance for an instant. Moonwind roared, apparently recovered from the shock of seeing Numair survive her first attack, and lunged forward.

Numair had a breathless moment to consider that in this instance, odds of two to one were in fact much worse than that, before Rainbow reared up and growled, –_I told you to get out of my sight, Jewelclaw. Do so. NOW._– The bolt of power that shot past Numair this time was hot enough to almost burn his skin. Apparently Jewelclaw wasn't quite as stupid as he seemed; the dragon snarled bitterly, but did the smart thing and dematerialised.

_One down, one to go... _Numair turned to face Moonwind, black fire gathering around his hands, and squared his shoulders, glaring at her. He could sense ripples of mind-to-mind conversation surrounding him as the other dragons discussed what was happening, but made no attempt to listen, fully occupied with standing between the unconscious Daine and an angry dragon. His Gift raged through him; abruptly a thought occurred to him. "Scamp?" he asked softly.

–_Yes?_– the young dragon answered somewhat nervously.

"Give me my staff, please," he requested mildly, never looking away from Moonwind, not even letting himself blink. After a moment he heard movement and felt the wood under his hand, and closed his fingers around it. "Thank you." He lifted the staff Weiryn had given him and channelled the raging torrent filling his veins into the wood and to the crystal at its top. The strange light given off by the black fires of his magic filled the part of the amphitheatre where they stood, glittering as it reflected off dragonscales and casting shadows across the sand.

–_A pretty toy, that one,_– Diamondflame observed in an interested tone. –_Where did you get it? It is not of mortal make._–

"It was a gift," Numair replied absently, still staring at Moonwind, who was looking less certain than she had done previously. "From Lord Weiryn."

–_Weiryn? What does he have to do with this?_– Moonwind snapped edgily. Several of the watching dragons snorted.

–_Really, Moonwind, you do allow your emotions to blind you sometimes,_– Diamondflame told her. –_Look at the female. Surely you can still recognise one of the Godborn when they stand before you?_–

There was a long silence before the pearlescent dragon hissed, lashing her tail. Transferring her stare from the unconscious Daine to the very much conscious Numair, her eyes narrowed. –_This one is not of the Godborn._–

–_No, but what difference does that make?_– Rainbow asked mildly. –_Are _all_ your senses dulled, Moonwind? He is strong enough to stand against you, and willing to do so. See what is really there, not what you wish to see._– Numair was losing track of the conversation now and had no idea what they were talking about, but he judged it better not to say so.

–_And these are the so-called 'guardians' of Skysong?_–

–_Much as it pains me to admit it, she raises a relevant point, Ancestor Rainbow,_– Wingjade observed from his perch high atop the arena wall. –_It is... somewhat unusual. Perhaps we might hear the circumstances?_–

–_Is this relevant?_– Diamondflame asked. –_They are my guests. The issue at hand is whether that is concern for the Dragonmeet or whether it is my own personal business._–

–_Perhaps not entirely relevant,_– Rainbow said thoughtfully, –_but certainly of interest. We have long wondered how Skysong came to be in the care of a pair of mortals._– He turned his blind eyes to Numair, who found himself the focus of almost twoscore pairs of slit-pupilled eyes and tried not to fidget. –_If you could tell us the story?_– Numair hesitated, glancing at Daine, and the ancient dragon said gently, –_She is unharmed and will wake within the hour. Do not fear._–

Taking a deep breath, Numair grounded the staff and leaned on it, starting to feel tired as the recent insanity began to catch up with him. He couldn't remember the last time he had truly slept for more than an hour or two. "Four years ago, human mages tore a hole in the barrier between the realms to bring Stormwings through to harass my friends," he began wearily. "I don't know how, but Flamewing was caught in their spell and drawn into the mortal realms. She was in labour at the time and the stress of the transition killed her kit. Daine is known as the Wildmage in our realm for her skill with wild magic; she was untrained at the time but was able to communicate with Flamewing and to heal both her and the unborn Skysong. Possibly to repay her for that, Flamewing elected to aid us in our fight against the human mages after Skysong was born, and they killed her with liquid fire."

He stopped talking and shivered; Flamewing's death was still one of the most terrible things he had ever seen. Even now, he could hear her scream. Licking dry lips, he continued quietly, "Before she died, she showed Daine the location of her den, and the newborn Skysong. Since then, Daine has been raising her, with what help I could offer."

The dragons began another conversation that excluded him once his story was finished; leaning harder on his staff, Numair watched their body language wearily. Moonwind finally gave up, with a lot of growling and scuffing at the sand, and departed in a bad mood; the remaining dragons seemed to be arguing amongst themselves, before at last Rainbow reared up.

–_Skysong's guardians are guests of Skysong's clan,_– he declared, –_and are not subject to the will of the Dragonmeet. This is Diamondflame's concern alone._– Most of the watching dragons promptly departed, leaving only a few interested spectators behind, and Numair sagged with relief, turning away and moving to sit down next to Daine.

–_Well done,_– Diamondflame told him quietly.

"What was Rainbow telling Moonwind about me?" he asked, craning his neck and looking up at the blue dragon. "It sounded like it meant more than he was saying."

Amusement filled Diamondflame's indigo eyes. –_He was pointing out to the Dragonmeet that your actions deserved merit. As you may or may not have noticed, most of those present today were male. If there is one thing a male dragon can understand, it is someone protecting their mate._–

_Typical. The one time being overprotective was the right thing to do, and Daine was unconscious. _Numair smiled ruefully and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, technically, she isn't my mate," he admitted.

–_You've shown yourself to be intelligent so far. Don't let it fall apart now. There is more to a mate than simply mating._– Diamondflame stretched and lowered his head to regard the two humans more closely. –_And all you want is a way to return to the mortal realms, and to my grandchild?_–

"Yes." Well, right now he really wanted to sleep, and preferably wake up to find that the war had been won and he could stop fighting for a while, but that wasn't going to happen; he'd settle for going home.

–_How did you come here in the first place?_–

"Fighting Chaos creatures at Midsummer," he replied wearily. "Daine's parents pulled us through."

–_Chaos creatures? There have been rumours of Uusoae's presence touching the mortal realms... I had thought them merely rumours..._–

"The Dream King seems to believe otherwise."

–_Gainel has spoken to you?_– The tone of surprise in the dragon's voice was unmistakeable.

Numair smiled crookedly. "We lead interesting lives. Unless this is all some vast hallucination, which isn't outside the realms of possibility. I might not be here at all, I might be chained to a bed in the Healer's quarters back home, screaming."

Diamondflame snorted at him. –_You may not have the mind of a typical mortal, but I do not believe you capable of hallucinations quite this diverse; nor are you insane._– The blue dragon blinked pensively. –_What you say of your war troubles me. I will have to see for myself._–

Numair nodded vaguely before turning his head to look up at Rainbow, still crouched near Daine. "I'm surprised they gave in so easily," he observed tiredly. "You seemed to have a great deal of opposition initially."

Rainbow looked amused, as far as he could tell. –_The only way dragons can live together is to vow to keep their muzzles out of one another's private lives,_– the blind dragon replied dryly. –_When we wrote our laws at the Golden Dragonmeet, we made sure of that. When I spoke in my office as governor, they could not argue, under the laws of that same meet._–

Numair was about to start asking questions about the Golden Dragonmeet – and anything else that occurred to him – when he heard one of the darkings squeak, "Awake now!" Scrambling to his knees, he hauled himself to his feet and bent over Daine as she opened her eyes.

* * *

_The Dragonlands scene is a lot longer than I realised, so we'll continue next chapter. And frankly it's a real cop-out that Daine conveniently passes out, then wakes up to find all the bad dragons have gone away. Still, it gives Numair a chance to actually do something impressive for once – he even impressed dragons, which is, well, impressive. Snort. Lots of sarcasm here, too, just for a change. And just sometimes, being overprotective isn't always a bad thing – I suspect Numair's going to be using this to try and win arguments for many years to come. Without success._

_Updates will be slowing down a little now, because the rest of this story is still unfinished – you can still expect a couple of new chapters a week, but I won't be updating every two days the way I have been recently._

_As always, review please?_

_**Loten.**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_A few people have commented on the parallels between the dragons and some of the Tortallans; it's interesting, isn't it? I never picked up on it from reading the books, but when I was rewriting that scene and really paid attention to what was being said, why, and how, it struck me all of a sudden. I wonder if it was deliberate?_

_This chapter is shorter, I'm afraid, because the next part hasn't been written yet.

* * *

_

Numair was relieved to see that Daine appeared unhurt, despite Rainbow's reassurances that she was fine, and tried to keep the smile from his face as she blinked dizzily at him. "What happened?"

Rainbow gently nudged Scamp to one side and loomed over them. –_Forgive my lack of precision in grabbing you out of harm's way, Godborn. I allowed Jewelclaw to upset me. What you felt was dragon magic, nothing more._–

"I'm glad it _was _nothing more," Daine replied vaguely. "Think how upsetting it might be to be squeezed from a shape – like milk from a teat – by something big."

"Is she all right?" Numair asked Diamondflame, twisting to look up at the blue dragon, his words part irony and part genuine concern. "Not – damaged?" There was no point asking Daine herself; she'd insist she was fine no matter what.

–_She seems well enough now,_– Diamondflame replied.

"You don't know her as I do," Numair said wryly. "She's _never _this philosophical about surprises." He saw the faint gleam of humour in her face as he looked back at her and smiled slightly in response as Rainbow reached out a careful paw to help her sit up.

"Where'd everybody go?" she asked, looking around the amphitheatre.

–_Where they would have been if Moonwind and her Separatists had not chosen to meddle in business that was not theirs,_– Diamondflame said cuttingly. –_They have gone home. Ancestor Rainbow ruled that your visit, concerned as it was with returning to my grandchild, was a matter for my clan alone._–

_Some of them needed a little persuading first, though,_ Numair added silently. He'd faced down two dragons and survived. That was a feat he had never heard of anyone else achieving. And he'd done it _here, _where everything up to and including the plants was more powerful than he was. All in all, he was feeling relatively pleased with himself at the moment, although it wasn't likely that anyone was actually going to _believe _him.

Daine braced herself, and Numair moved forward to help her stand, leaving his arm around her shoulders and hugging her loosely to him as they turned to face Diamondflame, who reared to look around the arena at the remaining dragons. –_Who will help me convey these mortals out of the Dragonlands?_–

The group of young dragons that had initially escorted them here had remained surprisingly silent until now, watching everything with wide eyes; at Diamondflame's question, they all instantly began shouting and pushing forward. The blue dragon silenced them with a glare. –_Those of you who can fly are too small. The rest of you cannot fly at all – and fly we must. You will stay here, and mind Ancestor Rainbow._–

The disappointment in their faces was unmistakeable; Numair and Daine exchanged glances, smiling, as Scamp muttered, –_We never do anything interesting._–

–_I will come with you,_– a new voice said. The owner of the voice was a female dragon only a little smaller than Moonwind, whose scales were grey and gold; she walked over to them. –_I am Wingstar. Your Skysong is my grandchild. The least I can do is bring her humans back to her._–

Numair was amused to be described as Kitten's human. Then again, he strongly suspected that Kit herself would agree with that description. Queenclaw had been right, the dragons were worse than cats in a number of ways.

–_Climb onto us,_– Diamondflame said crisply. –_I believe the Dragonmeet is done._– The other dragons who had stayed to watch were now leaving. The two humans stayed still along enough to be rejoined by the darkings; Jelly slid inside Numair's shirt rapidly enough that it clearly hadn't liked being in the Dragonlands very much, although Leaf seemed to be enjoying itself.

–_I will take you, Weiryn's daughter,_– Wingstar told Daine, crouching. –_You do not appear to have so many bony angles to you._– Numair rolled his eyes; Wingstar had fifty feet on him. She might have had a point, though; he had lost weight since being here. Daine grinned at him as she scrambled onto the dragon's back; he responded with maturity and dignity by sticking his tongue out at her before turning to pull himself up onto Diamondflame's back and settling himself as best he could. Rainbow handed his staff up to him; after a moment's thought he twisted and pushed it through the straps of his pack. He still wasn't a very good rider; he would definitely need both hands to hold on.

The dragons tensed in readiness, muscles flexing; abruptly Daine cried, "Wait!" When they all stared at her, she explained worriedly, "When we came through last time, we – more me, but both of us for a while – got fair sick. We need to tell you – "

–_Nothing,_– Diamondflame interrupted, somewhat to Numair's relief since Daine had made an excellent point and one that he himself had forgotten about. The dragon continued, –_You were brought here by lesser gods, not by dragons. You will not become ill in the least._– Numair bit his lip to hold back a grin as Daine scowled. –_Hold on,_– Diamondflame cautioned him, crouching slightly; he obeyed, and felt a jolt as the dragon leaped into the air.

It took Numair less than thirty seconds to decide that _this _was real flying. He watched as the Dragonlands fell away beneath them with astonishing speed; this beat anything he himself could do as a hawk. He was slightly less enamoured of the experience when they flew into a thick bank of cloud, however; it was _cold, _and damp. Still, it helped chase away the lingering weariness of his fight and the fact that he hadn't slept since the aftermath of the Stonemaze. "Are you truly Skysong's grandfather?" he asked Diamondflame curiously. "Icefall and some of the other youngsters called you Grandsire, but she explained the actual relationship was more distant."

–_Blood ties are important amongst dragons. Icefall and Steelsings are only distant kin to me, but we still acknowledge the relationship. However, Skysong is indeed my grandchild; Flamewing was mine and Wingstar's daughter,_– the dragon explained. He added with a touch of humour, –_The long life span of a dragon tends to yield some very tangled family trees._–

The dragons broke from the clouds into clear air; the condensation in Numair's clothes and hair promptly froze and turned to ice crystals. Shivering, he looked around, and somehow wasn't very surprised to see a flock of Stormwings waiting for them. Shaking his head wryly, he acknowledged Rikash's mocking grin with an answering smile, and nodded to Barzha and Hebakh.

–_You have interesting friends,_– Wingstar observed, and he grinned. _You have no idea._

"If you don't mind, we will go with you to the mortal realms," Barzha said quietly. All of the Stormwings were carrying an impressive variety of edged weaponry in addition to their glittering feathers. "We have business to settle." Numair glanced at Rikash, who grinned and mouthed, _Better late than never._

–_I will not wait if you fall behind,_– Diamondflame said warningly. The immortals circled and took up their places around the two dragons, save for Rikash, who glided into the space between them.

"Is this wise?" Daine called to him. "Ozorne's folk outnumber you almost four to one."

"Since when are Stormwings wise?" Rikash called back cheerfully as the dragons and their escort spiralled down into the clouds once more. Numair was shivering almost uncontrollably now, but he could still feel a subtle lingering power beginning to slide along his skin; it reminded him of the sensation he had felt when he had used the focus to go to Daine – something he would never have attempted in the mortal realms, and had he been thinking clearly at the time probably wouldn't have risked trying here. _Probably. _How this spell worked, he had no idea, and sensed he wouldn't understand the explanation, but on the whole he vastly preferred it to how it had felt when Weiryn and Sarra had pulled them through at Midsummer.

* * *

The broke through the clouds into glorious sunshine with all of Corus laid out beneath them. It was one of the most beautiful sights Numair had ever seen, and for a moment he was simply drowning in the pleasure and relief of being _home _at long last. The very air felt different as he inhaled; this was where he belonged, and the profound rightness of it filled him. Only for a moment, before he frowned as his brain caught up; _why Corus? _As they circled above the palace, he glanced over at Daine and saw her frowning as well, clearly just as puzzled. Raising his voice, he called to Diamondflame, "Why come _here? _Skysong is at Port Legann!" Or she had been at Midsummer, at any rate; he supposed anything could have happened since they'd left.

–_Why _are _we here?_– Wingstar echoed in a dry voice, giving Diamondflame a long look. –_You guided us, Diamondflame, and I too thought you would take us to our grandchild. I don't even see an army in this place._–

–_The god of the duckmoles is here,_– Diamondflame said grimly. –_I want to know why._–

–_Broad Foot? In this city?_– Wingstar asked blankly.

–_On the other side of the world from his mortal children,_– her mate agreed. –_Involving himself in mortal affairs._–

Numair exchanged glances with Daine and wondered if he looked as guilty as she did. Broad Foot had helped them willingly, he reminded himself uneasily; he had only needed a little persuasion. "How do you know all this?" he asked loudly, trying to change the subject.

–_I am a dragon,_– Diamondflame replied scornfully. –_My power tells me a great many things that you are blind and deaf to._– Numair scowled; no, he definitely wasn't going to miss being in the Divine Realms. This was _his _territory, and here he was back where he belonged near the top of the power structure.

Silver fire glittered in the air, and Broad Foot materialised slowly. His appearance made Daine cry out, "What's happened to you? You look terrible!" Numair agreed, somewhat uneasily.

The god looked amused more than anything, despite his haggard appearance. –_I overestimated my ability to contain Malady,_– he replied cheerfully, if weakly. –_It will not break free of me, but... it fights._– The two mortals exchanged another guilty look.

–_This is incredible!_– Diamondflame interjected. –_What possible interest have you in the affairs of humans?_–

Broad Foot snorted contemptuously at him. –_Have you dragons shut yourselves off so completely from affairs in the mortal and divine realms? Can you not _feel _the battle that is raging? Read the Chaos currents around you!_–

–_Humans and their wars,_– Wingstar snapped unconvincingly.

–_If she overturns the mortal and divine realms, how long do you think it will be until she turns on the Dragonlands?_– the duckmole asked tartly. –_You have made them separate from the Divine Realms, but you share a common border with them, and Uusoae is nothing but appetite. Even when fed to gorging, she hungers still._–

The immortals stared at one another for a tense moment. Numair was preoccupied in scanning the distant city below them and wishing vaguely that he had his spyglass – the gods alone knew where that had ended up. "Would you dragons mind setting down for a moment?" he asked. "I would like to know what the situation is here." He had lost track of time in the Divine Realms, but from the feel of the air it was late in the summer now; anything could have happened in the weeks or even months that they had been away.

–_And I would like to talk to you, duckmole,_– Diamondflame said ominously as the group began to descend. Despite the forbidding tone, the dragon sounded uneasy.

As they drew nearer to the palace, Numair hastily scanned the buildings below him, tracking the magical signatures of all the mages present and looking for anyone he recognised. Most would be with the army, and certainly none of his Gifted friends were here, but... Trying to ignore the catapults currently being aimed at them, he reached for his Gift and framed a speaking spell, spotting a familiar-looking gleam – he could picture the mage, but for the life of him he couldn't remember the man's name. Still, that didn't matter; he opened his hand and began speaking rapidly into the ball of black fire hovering above his palm.

"Call the men off! This is Numair Salmalín; the dragons and the Stormwings are with us! Who's in charge here?"

A shaky reply came through faintly. "Master Salmalín?"

"Yes, you dolt," he snapped. "You know my Gift when you see it. Give the command to stand down before someone does something stupid! The dragons are on our side, but they won't be if you shoot them! Who is in charge?"

"Duke Gareth, but – "

"Tell him Numair Salmalín and Daine Sarrasri are here, and tell him now," Numair said curtly. As they drew closer to the ground, he watched the flurry of activity warily, relieved to note that the soldiers had stopped loading the catapults. Whilst it would have been ironic to make it back home only to be killed by his own side, it was an irony he could well do without.

Diamondflame and Wingstar landed side by side in front of the palace, and two riders emerged from the gate; Numair grinned broadly when he recognised not only Duke Gareth but Buri, and raised a hand to wave, smothering laughter when he realised how this must look to them. _What a way to make an entrance!_

"They're friends," Daine told Wingstar. Looking over, Numair saw she was grinning as broadly as he was. "It's all right."

–_They may well be friends,_– the dragon responded dryly, –_but do they know that _we _are?_–

Daine dismounted first, jumping easily to the ground. Numair followed suit far less gracefully and jogged after her towards the horses and their riders, still grinning as he saw the sheer disbelief on their faces. He clasped hands with the duke in greeting as the man's warhorse nuzzled Daine.

"I had thought that I was past being shocked by your companions," Duke Gareth said dryly. "Clearly, I was mistaken."

_Welcome to my life. _"You should have seen where we got them," Numair told him wryly, turning to shake hands with Buri; nobody was going to believe them when they finally got around to telling the story. And he had no intention of telling them everything. Pulling his mind away from that line of thought took all his years of mental discipline, but there wasn't time to stop and think about it all yet. "Where's the queen? For that matter, where's the enemy?" he asked.

"Gone, except for our prisoners," Buri told him, dismounting to hug Daine. "They scrambled out of here half a day before a relieving force from the Yamani Islands came in – just pulled up stakes and vanished."

"We still maintain our forces on alert, however," Gareth added. "Just in case the enemy attempts something crafty." _Or in case a couple of lunatics show up on dragons? _Numair added silently, smiling as the duke continued, "The army is camped throughout the Royal Forest, and between here and Port Caynn."

"Thayet took a picked force and some mages and went south on some of the Yamani ships," Buri explained. "They're going to try and break the siege at Port Legann."

"There's a relief fleet going there from the Copper Isles!" Daine interjected worriedly, looking at Numair. "They'll be caught betwixt and between!" Numair bit his lip, his thoughts racing as he began hurriedly piecing together just where everybody was at the moment and what needed to be done.

"I'd ask how you know," Buri said slowly, "except anybody can tell you've been strange places."

_You have no idea. _Numair closed his eyes for a moment, thinking rapidly; when he opened them everyone was looking at him. After the Divine Realms, it felt almost pleasant to be in charge; _I really have lost my mind. _"We'll have to catch up with Her Majesty, then," he decided, looking at Duke Gareth. "You're certain everything is well here?"

The duke smiled. "Enough that you can go to them. We are well situated. You know that Her Majesty would not have left us vulnerable – "

"No more than she'd go if she thought there was still work to do here," Buri added. That was true enough.

"Will you take us to the queen?" Daine asked the dragons, who had apparently finished their discussion with the duckmole. "They're at sea, on their way to Port Legann."

–_The badger and Gold-streak are with them,_– Broad Foot added; Numair saw Daine smile.

–_We will do more than convey you to her,_– Wingstar said unexpectedly. –_Broad Foot has told us enough that my mate and I have decided to help you, and our grandchild, fight._–

Numair grinned fiercely at the news; this might just tip the balance. And he really, really wanted to see Ozorne's face when he showed up on the back of an eighty-foot dragon. "Do you think your fellow dragons might be concerned enough about the danger from Uusoae to fight on our side as well?" he asked hopefully, ignoring the confused expressions on the faces of Buri and Duke Gareth.

–_If you are prepared to wait a few decades for them to reach the decision,_– Diamondflame replied dryly. –_That is one reason why few of us will argue with a personal choice. Long lived as we are, we still would die of old age before our peers would agree on anything._–

He winced, recalling the endless arguments of the Dragonmeet far too clearly. "Please, forget I asked."

Barzha spiralled down from the waiting flock of Stormwings, scowling. Buri and Duke Gareth looked even more confused as the Stormwing queen demanded, "Why do you gab here like pigeons? Ozorne is not here. Our people are not here."

–_I needed to speak to the duckmole,_– Diamondflame informed her coolly.

"You have spoken, have you not?" she shot back. "Then let's find our battle. We didn't come to admire scenery." She took off back to the rest of her flock, and Numair looked back at his friends.

"Time to go, it seems," he remarked.

"All right, but you owe us a story," Buri told him, shaking her head.

"You and everyone else," he replied, turning to haul himself onto Diamondflame's back once more as Daine remounted Wingstar. "It's going to have to wait; we've got a war to end first."

* * *

_I really dislike this part of this book. It's so disjointed. It's taken me a while to sort out where everyone else is and what happens between this last scene in Corus and the next canon scene outside Legann several days later. The next chapter will be Numair and Daine joining Thayet's attack force, some conversation – although not as much as you might think; you'll see why – an unashamedly sappy farewell or two and the start of Numair's duel with Hadensra. The duel itself is quite long, so it will be split into two parts._

_Lots of people have been asking this – no, I will NOT be ending this story in the same way that TP ended RotG. I wouldn't do that to you all. There will be at least a chapter or two past the canon ending, tying up all the loose ends, and there will possibly be some short stories set after that. Possibly._

_Today's shameless advertising: __**sylvanius **__invited me to a forum she runs onsite, The DN Writer's Faction. Thus far it's not terribly active, but now that the Immortals series has its own category she wants to change that – I figure that if we all head over there it won't stay inactive for long, right? It can be found at _fanfiction dot net /forum/The_DN_Writers_Faction/58994/ _or if that link hasn't worked, check her profile._

_**Loten.**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_This chapter is a bit of a contrast to what we've seen before; how do you feel, before you go into battle? Also, it's pretty late here and I've been awake far too long.

* * *

_Numair was reaching for his Gift again almost before they broke free of the clouds over the Emerald Ocean; Thayet had battle mages with her, and he really didn't want to start fighting his own side. Scanning the ships below them as the wind whipped his hair back from his face, he spotted a familiar glow and reached out. "Harailt!"

"_Numair?_" the incredulous reply echoed from the ball of flame in his palm a moment later. "Where are you?"

"Are you with Thayet?"

"Yes," the mage replied shakily. "She wants to know where you are, too. Is Daine with you?"

Numair grinned in sudden mischief. "Look up." A heartbeat later he heard Harailt swear, and bit his lip to stop himself bursting into laughter. "If you could pass the word so nobody tries to attack our new friends, we'd all appreciate it," he said solemnly, watching with dancing eyes as a flurry of activity broke out below them.

"Her Majesty demands an explanation," Harailt said finally.

"And she'll get one. We're coming down." The dragons descended slowly; Numair directed Diamondflame to the queen's ship. Thayet herself was visible on deck, shading her eyes and staring up at them with an expression of pure shock that he had never seen on her features before; struggling not to laugh, Numair waved at her innocently, and heard Daine giggle nearby.

"I think she's going to kill us."

"That would be unfortunate, magelet," he replied dryly over the sound of the dragons' wingbeats, steadying himself as they neared the ship. Daine leaped down first and was promptly enveloped in what was either a hug or an attempt to strangle her; possibly both, Numair decided as he jumped less gracefully to the deck and took a moment to find his balance before Thayet hugged him in turn.

"All right," the queen said finally, moving back and wiping her eyes on her sleeve as the dragons spiralled upwards to hover above the fleet once more. "Start talking, Numair. You have a _lot _of explaining to do."

"One thing at a time," Numair answered, turning his head and studying Daine critically. She didn't notice, which only confirmed his opinion. "Is there somewhere Daine can sleep?"

"I'm not tired," she replied automatically.

He snorted. "Magelet, neither of us have slept in days. Being unconscious doesn't count. You're exhausted; I can tell Her Majesty what is necessary."

Daine glared at him and opened her mouth to argue; the effect was somewhat ruined when she had to stifle a yawn. Numair raised an eyebrow and looked at her steadily, and after a long moment she gave in. "I s'pose it would be nice to rest somewhere normal," she muttered, before brightening and looking back at Thayet. "Is the badger here?"

"Yes. I'll take you to him."

* * *

"Are you all right, Numair? You look like you need sleep as badly as Daine did."

He nodded wearily. "I do, but this is too important to wait. I think I know how we're going to win the war."

Thayet blinked at him. "Go on," she managed faintly after a moment.

He rolled his shoulders stiffly. "What do you already know?"

"The badger told us you and Daine were alive and in the Divine Realms and on your way home, nothing more."

"All right. Well, the full story will take days to tell, and I don't want to tell it more than once, so it's going to have to wait until everything's over." Not that he intended telling anyone the full story, not just yet anyway. Rubbing his eyes, Numair forced himself to focus; he'd been working on this for days, in between all his other worries. "The shortest version possible is that this war is a reflection of something far more important. The gods are struggling with the Queen of Chaos – "

"_What?_"

"Thayet, please don't interrupt," he said pitifully. "I'm barely conscious and you have no idea how important this is."

"Sorry."

"The gods are struggling with the Queen of Chaos," he repeated slowly. "She's working through a mortal, or possibly an immortal. We need to find that mortal or monster and kill it. The explanation is very complicated, but that will end the war. We'll still have an army and a lot of monsters to clean up, but the main war will end."

Thayet stared at him speechlessly for a long time. He returned her stare blankly, aware that he was nearing his limits. With so much still to accomplish, he needed to rest; more than that, he needed time to sit and think things through at long last, to make sure his mind was clear and focused when the action started. Finally, the queen said softly, "This is very hard to believe, Numair."

"I know," he agreed. "The badger will confirm it, and do a better job of explaining – at least some parts. Daine and the dragons can help fill in the gaps, too."

"Why are the dragons here?"

"They brought us home. They're actually Kitten's grandparents. They and the Stormwings will fight with us."

"You brought some very peculiar allies with you."

"You should have seen where we got them," Numair replied, smiling tiredly as he echoed his comment to Duke Gareth earlier.

"So we kill a certain individual and the war ends? Just like that?"

"Yes. You'll need to ask the badger for more details. I don't know how much I'm allowed to say."

"Do you know who?"

"Maybe. If it's a generic immortal, we're in trouble, but I think it's one of the major players on the other side. It's probably either Ozorne, Valmar, Deniau or Hadensra."

"As simple as that," she muttered, exhaling. "We've been trying to kill those four for months, Numair."

"I know, but you have help now," he told her with the almost manic cheerfulness he usually felt when he was on the brink of collapse. "Jon and everyone in Legann will need to target Deniau. Valmar's with a fleet on their way here... I don't know who you've got with you, but you might be able to deal with him – "

–_We can do that,_– a deep mental voice interrupted.

"Thank you!" Numair called softly upwards towards the dragons, before looking back at Thayet and smiling crookedly. "That's Diamondflame. His mate is Wingstar. They'll help take out the Copper Isles fleet. The Stormwings up there are the Stone Tree nation; they'll try to kill Ozorne, if someone doesn't beat them to it – there's quite a long list of people trying to get hold of him," he added ironically. "Including me, but I'll have to be the one to fight Inar. Nobody else on our side would stand a chance."

"And you do?" Thayet asked. "You look like you wouldn't stand a chance against a small child at the moment, Numair."

"True," he agreed wearily. "But this is going to take time to coordinate, and we're not even at Legann yet. I just need some sleep; magically speaking, I'm better rested than I have been in a while." He searched his memories. "I think that was everything you all really needed to know urgently," he said softly, fighting a yawn. "As I said, the badger can fill you in... and the dragons..."

"This is unfair, Numair," she complained, smiling at him. "I'm absolutely desperate to know what happened to the two of you, and now I have to wait until the war's done?"

"Sorry," he mumbled, losing coherence now. "It really will take days to tell. We've got more important things to do first."

"True. All right, get some sleep – I'd say you've earned it, if this works. I'll talk to our strange allies and by the time you wake up we'll hopefully have a plan."

Numair had no idea whether he had answered her or not; the blackness flickering at the edges of his vision took over, and he fell asleep where he was.

* * *

Only half a day passed before the fleet neared Legann and stopped to allow the troops to disembark. That wasn't long enough, really, Numair mused as he rubbed his eyes and stretched, watching silently as the plan started to unfold. The final push would come in two days' time, when Thayet led the assault to break the siege at Legann. By then, their friends inside the beleaguered city would know the details of the plan and would hopefully have refined Numair's vague suggestions into something more solid – this was the part of the plan that he disliked. The information they had brought from the Divine Realms was too important to trust to a message and would need to be relayed directly to Jon and Alanna by a trusted courier, who would also carry the Dominion Jewel to the king. That was fine, except that Thayet had decided that the trusted courier should be Daine, with help from Diamondflame.

It wasn't so bad, he told himself for perhaps the tenth time since waking. He and Daine had known that they would have to separate for this anyway; he had a one-eyed Scanran to hunt, and she wouldn't stay away from the heart of the fighting unless he finally carried out his oft-repeated threat and chained her up somewhere. Not to mention that she was desperate to see Kitten again – so was he, come to that, but his path would take him elsewhere. The fight between himself and Hadensra would be terribly dangerous, and it would be far better if she was away from that – nowhere was going to be safe until this was done, but Legann would be marginally safer than the battleground surrounding it. _I hope._

Now the moment of departure had come, and he reluctantly walked towards where Daine was talking to Rikash. The Stormwing greeted him cheerfully; "Gods help us, it's the stork-man, come to make sure I'm not corrupting you." He smiled slightly despite himself, glancing at Daine; she still denied being the one to let the Stormwings learn that particular nickname. Rikash continued in the same easily mocking tone. "Has your grand conference ended, Longshanks?"

"It has," he replied mildly, refusing to be baited. "There go Barzha and Hebakh now," he added, pointing to the distant Stormwing flock.

"And I must follow, like a good servant," Rikash said ironically. "I'll see you both when the dust settles in two days." Being Rikash, of course, he couldn't simply depart, instead taking a small detour to annoy Wingstar, but he had other things on his mind beside the Stormwing's quirks.

Taking advantage of the fact that for the moment they were unwatched, Numair put his arm around Daine's shoulders and drew her close. "It's time," he said softly, wishing it wasn't.

She turned into him, her voice a whisper. "Come with me." He wished he could. Her hand tangled in his shirt; Jelly squeaked at her, and she snapped, "Well, if you wouldn't hide in his clothes all the time."

"Magelet, I can't," he replied softly, stroking her face, his eyes meeting hers. "No one else can take on Inar Hadensra, not without risking lives needlessly. He could have been a black robe mage like me, but – he thought the university was too confining. He's in the main camp for certain – I can sense him even at this distance." If it weren't for the presence of the dragons, Inar would have sensed him as well. "I _must _be there when Thayet attacks." Later he would be scared, no doubt; for this moment, he simply didn't want to leave her.

She knew all this as well as he did. He watched her take a deep breath and struggle for control. "You get into so much trouble without me to look after you," she whispered finally, and he smiled. _True._ She'd saved his life more times than he could remember. Leaning closer, he kissed her forehead.

"You belong in Legann. Make sure that Jonathan understands what Gainel told us. It's not the kind of thing we can trust to a letter or speech spell. He's _got _to see that it's vital to capture or kill Uusoae's pawn, Valmar of the Copper Isles. Diamondflame says he'll get Deniau of the Copper Isles when his fleet reaches Legann." He was only repeating what had already been decided, but it was all that was stopping him from breaking down completely. He sighed and stared out into the darkness surrounding them, feeling more tired and afraid than he had ever felt in his life.

"And we'll just have to hope she is drawing on those two or Inar Hadensra, or Ozorne, not one of the immortals that were in our dream, because we have no way of identifying them," he added bleakly. Daine apparently decided he was brooding too much and wasting what time they had left, turning to him and throwing her arms around his neck; he responded, pulling her to him, not caring who might see them as they kissed almost frantically. He could almost taste her fear in that moment, matching his own, and the terrible thought unspoken in both their minds that one or both of them might die in the next couple of days without ever knowing what they might have had together.

Finally, slowly, her arms loosened their grip around his neck and he broke the kiss, letting her go reluctantly. He might never see her again; he had to tell her before she left. He took a deep breath. "I love you," he said at last, words he'd never said before, his voice hoarse with emotion; for a long moment neither of them spoke, merely stared at each other, both of them near to tears. From somewhere he found a flicker of strength and was able to smile at her. "If you get yourself killed, I will _never _forgive you."

That drew a laugh from her, even if it was more than half a sob, and she managed a shaky smile in reply. He offered her his handkerchief solemnly and she shook her head. "You'll need it," she said quietly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and pulling herself together; even now, she was still so strong.

"Something else," he said, remembering; he fished Jelly out of his shirt. He'd almost forgotten the darking was there. "We talked about this," he told it. "You'll be much better off with Daine and Leaf." Jelly stretched to rub itself against his cheek silently before he tucked it into Daine's pack, as Diamondflame loomed into view.

–_If these touching farewells are done with?_–the dragon said. –_We too must be on our way._–

Numair looked helplessly at Daine, neither of them wanting to part. There was nothing left to say. They kissed one last time before she climbed onto the ship's rail and he steadied her until the dragon's magic lifted her. Standing in the half-dark, he watched silently as the pair began to leave; he saw her turn to look back and blow him a kiss and smiled suddenly, impulsively reaching for his Gift and shaping the words of a speaking spell. Not easy to send a kiss via magic, but he couldn't think of a better use for his power. "Goddess bless, my darling," he whispered. If she never came back, well, he doubted he would survive without her for long.

* * *

During the two days leading up to the attack, Numair stayed away from everything as much as possible, leaving the badger and Harailt to help Thayet coordinate their plan and settle the final details. He kept to himself, needing the isolation to finally sit and sort out everything that had happened to him in the past few weeks; there was so much he needed to come to terms with.

Throughout the first day he dealt with the easier topics, simply reliving the events of the Divine Realms, fixing them in his memory and convincing himself that he hadn't imagined any of it. He reviewed his actions, noting what could have been done differently and recalling details that had escaped him at the time. Once that was done, he slept, deeply and dreamlessly, throughout the night and most of the following morning.

He felt much more like himself when he woke up; he actually felt rested, for the first time in months. Taking advantage of that, he finally let his thoughts return to Daine, and for a long time sat thinking of nothing beyond the fact that she loved him. He had no reason to disbelieve it. Too good to be true it might be, but Daine had always known her own mind since she was thirteen. What would become of them in the future, he didn't know and didn't quite dare try to imagine, but provided they both survived this war they had a chance. It was enough.

The question of their survival made Numair feel ill. Outwardly confident, since the dream of the chess game he had been truly afraid. He had been fighting since Midwinter, over and over again being drained of his Gift and having almost no time to recover; his reserves had been worn down and he was a long way from his full strength. Defeating Inar Hadensra would have been difficult at the best of times; now, in these circumstances, he wasn't sure he could.

Then again, as depressing as that sounded, it wasn't as bad as all that, he considered. After all, he hadn't thought he would survive Carthak either, and he had. And had he known in advance what would happen to him in the Divine Realms he wouldn't have expected to survive it; yet here he was. He shouldn't have survived most of the things that had happened throughout his admittedly very peculiar life. _I'm harder to kill than I think, _he told himself firmly, pushing aside his depressing thoughts – now more than ever, he had so much to live for. And given everything he'd seen and done throughout his three decades of life, a one-eyed Scanran mage was nothing, really. He'd faced dragons and gods; he could cope with one mortal man.

After a while he fell into daydreams, absently toying with his bracelet for a time before opening the locket and looking thoughtfully at the tiny portrait inside. Numair found it hard to look ahead; for so many years his life had been very much the same. To consider that now everything would change was almost frightening, in a way; the future seemed almost too bright to look towards. It would be a challenge, to so completely alter the habits of a lifetime, but one he was definitely looking forward to. Smiling, he closed the locket and let the bracelet vanish once more, glancing out through the half-open flap of the tent he had been given; it was starting to get dark. Tomorrow morning would be the beginning of the end; time for the final preparations. He reached slowly for Weiryn's staff, which was still stained with spidren blood, and began to clean it in much the same manner as a warrior might sharpen his sword before battle.

* * *

"Numair."

He opened his eyes; he was sitting cross-legged outside the tent and had been meditating, years of mental discipline bringing his mind to complete stillness. "Thayet," he replied quietly. "Is it time?"

"Less than an hour until dawn. Are you ready?"

He smiled slightly. "You're never ready for something like this."

"I know. How are you feeling?"

"I'm not as scared as I thought I would be," he said reflectively. "I don't know why."

"A lot depends on you today, you know. You said it yourself, nobody else can beat Hadensra."

"I know. I've known it would come to this since I learned he was here. It's all right, Thayet." He smiled. "I'm not much of a hero, I know that, but I've learned a few things. I'll stop him. One way or another."

"Don't say that." She was silent for a moment. "Do you think you'll be all right?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I'm not in the best condition to fight a duel, and he's very strong. But it'll be all right. There are certain spells, if it comes down to it. I may not win, but Inar will definitely lose."

"Don't do anything foolish, Numair, please. I'd hate to lose you now. And what would I tell Daine?"

His throat tightened, but he managed a smile. "You wouldn't have to tell her anything. She would understand. This is all in the abstract, anyway; I'll be fine," he said with a confidence that he didn't feel. "If something does go wrong, though," he added more softly, "there's a box of letters in the top drawer of my desk. Don't look like that, Thayet. I don't plan to die today. This is a 'just in case', that's all. I've had a will made out for years; so has everyone who does this sort of work."

He'd updated it for the final time only a few weeks before Midsummer. There wasn't much to it; his books and notes would go to Lindhall, a few personal tokens to his friends, and everything else was Daine's if she wanted it. If not, it was to be sold and the money given to her. If he outlived her – which was highly unlikely – it went to the crown. The letters were more important; hopefully nobody would have to read them.

"You seem very calm, Numair. It's as if you don't care if you die or not. I know you've been a bit depressed recently, but..."

"Of course I care. Now more than ever; I've found something worth living for," he said cryptically. "But it's worth dying for, too."

"You're not making sense."

"I never do," he replied dryly; it made her smile. "It's one of those things. I know what I mean, but I can't find the words for it. I assure you, I don't want to die and I intend to make sure it doesn't happen."

"See that you do. Whatever you might think, I don't want to have to explain to Daine that you've gone and got yourself killed."

"I'm touched by your faith in me."

"You're touched in the head," she retorted, sounding eerily like Alanna, and he grinned at his queen.

"Thanks. Stop worrying so much. After everything I've seen and done in the last few months, a half-blind Scanran isn't even in the top one hundred scariest things I've ever faced," he added, echoing yesterday's thoughts. Standing up, he began to stretch carefully, warming up after a night spent on the ground, feeling oddly calm still. "Let me look after myself."

"But you're so bad at it."

"I'm still alive; I can't be that bad. I'd better go. I don't want to end up in the middle of two armies; this is going to be difficult enough as it is. I'll see you when it's all over."

"The gods watch over you, Numair."

_I think they've got more important people to watch. _"And over you, Your Majesty." They didn't hug, or clasp hands; instead he turned away and walked off across the camp in the grainy predawn, refusing to look back.

* * *

The sun was rising. Since Midwinter, Numair had been woken before dawn more often than he could recall, but he couldn't remember when he'd last taken the time to watch the sunrise. Now he stood on a slight rise not far from the river, looking eastwards in silence. Everything was utterly still; with so much human activity, the People had long since fled or gone into hiding, and there were few birds participating in the dawn chorus on this cool early-autumn morning. The air was still, with just a hint of crispness hinting at the colder seasons to come, and a slight mist drifted in from the distant sea that here was little more than a vague haze.

_I'd forgotten how beautiful the world is. _He took a deep breath of the fresh, cool air and held it for a moment before exhaling, watching the vapour of his breath swirl in front of his face, then inhaled again as though drawing the peaceful atmosphere of the morning into his body. He felt again the sensation that had struck him when they had passed through Corus, a physical sense of _rightness_ at being where he belonged, and let his senses drift for a moment, feeling the energy in the air.

Not for the first time, he wondered whether Daine felt this sort of connection to her home through her magic; as always, thinking of her made him smile. Numair remembered the first time she had stayed with him at the tower. For reasons he could no longer recall, she hadn't slept well and he had woken early; they had stood together on the observation deck at the top of the tower and watched the sun rising. Turning, he looked back towards Legann, wondering briefly what she was doing at the moment; was she too watching the sunrise and remembering that morning years ago?

For a long time the mage stood motionless, watching the rising sun. The pale golden light of dawn crept across the landscape, and the world was almost silent but for the distant birdsong. He seemed almost in a trance, leaning on his staff with his eyes half closed, his breathing slow and even. Finally he stirred, exhaling slowly and turning away; _it's time. _Moving briskly, Numair descended the rise and walked down towards the river, savouring the peace while it lasted.

Halting, he surveyed the surrounding area thoughtfully. _This will do. _There were some trees to provide a little cover, plenty of open space to work with, and the river nearby for water when it was over – assuming he would be in a position to need it. The armies and Legann were some distance away; nobody would get hurt. Closing his eyes briefly, he took stock; he'd done all he could to prepare himself. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he let it out in almost a sigh and let his defences fall, dispelling the lingering shield the dragons had laid on him before they left. Reaching for his Gift, he lifted his staff a little and sent out a silent pulse of magic that was almost a call, an insubstantial challenge. Inar would sense it, and he would come.

_If anyone is listening, _he said silently, looking up at the clear blue sky, _please, watch over my friends today. _There was nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

The sun had truly risen and the stillness of the morning had turned into the more mundane routine of the day by the time Inar approached him. The two men watched one another silently as the Scanran walked closer, finally halting only a few feet away and nodding.

"Salmalín."

"Hadensra," Numair replied, inclining his head in reply. "I suppose there's no point in asking you to simply walk away?"

"None."

"I thought not." It hadn't been a realistic option anyway. This man might be in service to the Queen of Chaos; Numair couldn't afford to let him live.

"Are you really as good as they say, Salmalín?"

"I suppose we're about to find out, aren't we?" he replied, shrugging. No doubt Inar had heard rumours over the years of some of the more unusual activities of the Tortallan kingdom's black robe; the last tales Numair himself had heard had declared that he had in fact been killed in Carthak and had risen from the dead. The real explanation was far less interesting, obviously.

Hadensra's single blue eye narrowed. "Where have you been hiding?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, and it doesn't really matter now." Numair looked around them. "Before we start, I suggest we shield this place. The armies are a long way off at the moment, but that may change, and I don't think either of us want to start dodging arrows." This was absolutely absurd; they were about to try and kill one another, yet this conversation was almost civil.

The Scanran shrugged by way of response, seeming to have no objection, and after a few wary moments both mages spoke simultaneously to create a marbled shield around them of pulsing black and red fire. Numair had known that Inar's Gift was red, but that didn't mean much; so was Onua's, after all, and hers was barely there. The deep ruby colour of the other man's magic was much as he had expected.

Numair was utterly unsurprised when Inar's first spell crackled across the space between them less than a heartbeat after the shield was raised. There were no formal rules when mages duelled, no code of honour as the knights had, but even if there had been Inar would have broken them. Raising Weiryn's staff before him, he spoke, and the red fire of the spell struck the crystal and earthed itself harmlessly. Lifting his free hand, he cast his own first spell, and the battle began.

* * *

_Considering TP gave me absolutely nothing to go on, I'm pretty happy with this. I am reasonably certain that most of the major characters are in Legann at this point, so they don't show up here. Numair really didn't want to talk to anyone anyway, not yet; he desperately needed those two days of quiet before everything started, just to finally sit and think and clear his mind._

_He didn't like being separated from Daine, though. Unfortunately that part was canon, so there wasn't anything I could do about it. If I had my way Inar Hadensra wouldn't even exist and Numair and Daine would team up and go hunt down Ozzie with a little help from Rikash, but sadly it was not to be. And speaking of Rikash... this was his last scene. He didn't even get a decent exit line._

_Numair's actually very isolated indeed with everyone else being inside Legann. He doesn't get to see Kitten or any of his friends except Thayet and Harailt. I so, so wanted him to have that final conversation the morning of the duel with Alanna, but it just wasn't possible – so I cheated and gave Thayet a couple of Alanna-esque lines._

_And he told Daine he loves her. The fear of impending death has helped him to stop being a paranoid fool and start accepting that maybe she knows what she's saying when she says she loves him – he's not there yet, but it's a start._

_The scenes before the duel started are a real change from my usual writing, aren't they? That's what I get for writing late at night. I've literally only just finished writing the end of this chapter. I think I got stuck on the symbolism of the sunrise, but I quite like it. Just be thankful there weren't any song lyrics anywhere!_

_Originally you were going to have a little more of the actual duel in this chapter, but – as so often happens – I got hit with an insane flash of inspiration in the shower yesterday and I'm rewriting the entire duel to incorporate it. So next chapter will be the duel in full._

_**Loten.**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Important note at the end of the chapter, buried in my rambling explanation of the duel. Also, I'm surprised and pleased that so many of you picked up on the tone I was trying to set in the last chapter; it seems I more or less got it right. My apologies to those who tell me they were crying while reading!

* * *

_

Numair had fought duels before, many times. Like his encounter with Tristan Staghorn, they had been... theatrical, almost; spell followed by counter-spell followed by counter-spell, frequently growing more obscure and dramatic as the duel progressed. The effects were usually more for show than anything; the idea was to find something your opponent didn't know how to counter.

This wasn't like that. There were no silly and juvenile tricks here; this was a real fight, where the idea was simply to kill the other mage before he killed you. It was the difference between a formal duel to first blood in an arena and an encounter with an enemy in the midst of battle. There were no rules here, no customs or honour. He hadn't fought a battle like this before, and his opponent had.

More than that, Inar Hadensra was stronger than he was at the moment. The Scanran was at full strength; Numair most certainly was not, even after two days of comparative rest. His only advantage was that he simply wanted the other man dead; Inar wanted to hurt him first.

The one-eyed mage was succeeding, too. The curses he was using were truly vicious, many designed with no other purpose than to cause pain. Numair hadn't been trained for this; reading about such spells could only take you so far. At the moment, he was holding his own, but he needed to find some way to end this quickly or he would lose.

Even so, it might have been easier to endure had it merely been a matter of physical spells, but it wasn't. Inar knew enough of the high-level black robe training that mental magic was playing a part; the Scanran had proved expert at mental attacks, more than once inducing an almost crippling sense of panic and despair that was very difficult to defend himself against.

It didn't help that he kept being distracted by stray thoughts of Daine and his friends; he couldn't stop himself worrying about them, and every time he did he ran the risk of being killed. Strong emotions left him vulnerable. Scrambling backwards inelegantly to dodge a bolt of light that shimmered in an unpleasant way – it would have burned off most of his skin had it hit him – he said the first spell that came to his mind, trying to buy time.

It was a stupid spell, it didn't do much more than move the soil under your opponent's feet, no use in real combat; but it had never been tested by a black robe, either. To his frank amazement, a long stretch of soil heated to something in excess of a thousand degrees within seconds; he heard the Scanran swearing, forced to lift himself clear with his Gift, as the earth solidified into something almost like glass.

No time to savour the brief victory; he made a sharp motion with one hand, lips moving silently, and a fountain of soil and rock exploded from the ground in a ring surrounding Inar. His opponent snarled something and the spell-ring moved outwards instead of inwards, spraying dirt everywhere and achieving nothing.

Another snarl brought a curse in the form of splinters of red light, almost hidden in the dust-laden air; he didn't have time to block them all, and staggered as the ones he'd missed cut into him. Luckily he'd avoided most of it; just superficial cuts, but enough of those would weaken him fatally.

He spoke his next spell at the same instant Inar did; the two forces collided in mid air and exploded with enough force to send both mages stumbling back almost to the edge of the combined black-and-red shield that protected them, their ears ringing from the blast of enough raw power to have levelled a city.

The Scanran recovered first; Numair almost howled with pain as every muscle in his body contracted with almost enough force to tear free of bone. It felt like he was being torn apart internally. Gasping for breath, he frantically tried the only counter he had for that sort of attack, and when that didn't work he let himself fall to his knees and plunged the fingers of one hand into the earth, sending power into the soil. A dull boom sounded far underground; the earth within the sphere of their shield trembled violently enough to send Inar sprawling, and the pain stopped.

Scrambling to his feet and scrabbling to pick up his staff, he threw his free hand out, catching Inar as he tried to stand, knocking him down once more. Blinking sweat from his eyes, Numair started a spell that would hopefully kill his opponent, and had to break off mid-phrase to shield himself from the Scanran's next attack, struggling to keep his thoughts guarded; Inar was reading his intentions too often.

For a time the exchange continued, until they were both nearing exhaustion. A stalemate was not an option. Even if they both ran out of power at the same time, the one slightly less drained would find the strength to slit his opponent's throat before collapsing. Both men were growing desperate now; what little order had been present broke down completely, and now they were near enough simply throwing pure magic at one another and waiting for one of them to run out of strength.

The air was filled with a haze of power; it boiled off both mages, crackled and rebounded from the shield that surrounded them. Red and black fire had mixed to a strange rusty reddish-brown, unpleasantly similar to dried blood; steam from the abused earth they fought over and dust disturbed by powerful forces added to the haze until the two could barely see one another. It was possibly the strangest duel ever fought; certainly it was the most dangerous. Never before had two black robes battled one another – Inar might not technically have the robe, but he had the power for it.

Numair wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, taking a second to catch his breath. The Scanran's ruby eye gleamed in the haze; one eye had been sacrificed for greater power, the source of the darkest spells being used. The red light was a beacon, but he'd tried targeting it before and been misled; he didn't have the power to waste attacking now unless he was certain of scoring a hit.

He moved to a piece of relatively level ground with his back almost touching the marbled red and black flames of the shield, the entire combat area in front of him, and took his stance. Braced and ready, he stared through the haze at the one-eyed Scanran mage's shadowy form and lifted the staff in his right hand, holding his left arm across his body.

The pressure building within the shield was tremendous. A lesser mage would have been unable to endure it; even someone of Jon's or Alanna's strength would probably have been unconscious by now, and a weaker Gifted one would be dead. As it was, he felt dizzy, his head pounding and joints aching, and it was no comfort to know that Inar would be no better.

He had no idea how long they had been fighting. It could have been anything from twenty minutes to a day and a half. Either way, it was too long; he needed this to end while he could still stand. There were other battles to fight this day. Half-formed ideas spiralled through his mind; he was almost too tired to think. Fire sparkled in the misty air and he lifted a hand wearily. His reactions were sluggish, and he had never seen this spell before; Inar's Gift refracted and splintered into what was essentially a cloud of shards of glass. With no idea how to shield against it, he took the simpler evasive action and threw himself down, hissing as dozens of tiny blades sliced into his back.

Rolling, he struggled to his knees and braced himself, not having time to stand; gasping a phrase, he gestured with a sideways scything motion and felt a flicker of satisfaction as the shadowy form of his opponent fell with a cry of pain. The satisfaction didn't last; within seconds the two mages were standing once more and blasting at one another.

Enough. If this didn't end soon he might as well drop his shields and let the Scanran kill him. Numair knew he was almost empty, drawing on his reserves just to stay standing. Three or four spells at most before he collapsed. Inar was in a similar state, but he had had more power available to start with; it wouldn't be the one-eyed mage who ran out of magic first. So... there was only one choice left. The idea revolted him, but it was the only way to win.

He considered the plan, moving sideways to keep an eye on his enemy as they circled warily through the smoke. If he didn't get it exactly right, Inar might escape, and there was nobody else who could beat him. All or nothing, then? Yes. Nobody else could do this, so he would have to, no matter how distasteful he might find it. The fact that he _did _find it distasteful was reassuring, in a way. At least he was still himself despite the power still raging through him.

Spitting blood, he began considering spells, gathering his strength for one final effort. _I'm thirsty, _he realised suddenly; he would have laughed if he had the energy. Instead, swaying slightly where he stood, he raised a hand and spoke in broken Thak. The spell he used was childish, laughable, little more than a child's trick; all it did was create a brief shower of gentle rain, little more than a sprinkling. Yet Inar stiffened, threw a strong shield up and backed away; the one-eyed man didn't know the spell and didn't realise that it was harmless.

Hope surged through him as the water misted lightly over his hot skin, wetting the blood dried there. It was cool and refreshing, and he opened his mouth to gain a little moisture before it stopped, dredging up old memories. Stupid to waste power on something so mundane, but he didn't have enough left for an offensive spell anyway; it wasn't doing him any good, and the small amount of water had helped him.

This plan was the only real option. His chances of surviving it were probably about fifty-fifty; not good, but Inar's chances were far, far less. He didn't want to die, but he'd sworn an oath to the Crown that if necessary he would give up his life in defending his adopted country. It might not come to that, but he couldn't afford to worry about it now. This was the last chance.

Numair closed his eyes and sank deep into his mind. Past his surface thoughts, mostly a haze of pain and unhappiness at what he was about to do. Past his deeper thoughts, concerned entirely with Daine and his friends. Deeper still, into the shadowy corners that he usually avoided. Through memories buried so deeply that he refused to acknowledge them. Into darkness.

It was his final secret. Even Daine had never guessed just how much Numair was hiding. Down in the furthest depths of his soul was the side of him that he never, ever showed to anyone, the part of him that was always pushing him further, higher, the part of him that had made him go for the black robe, the part of him that Ozorne had wanted to use, the part of him that had almost, _almost _allowed it. The one thing he had never told another soul, and never would, was that at the moment Ozorne had asked that one act of him, a part of him had wanted to.

He reached deeper still, into the pain and fear and rage that he kept so tightly locked away. Through the aching loneliness of too many long nights with nothing but his own doubts and fears. Through the terrifying sense of omnipotence that had come to him in Carthak, when he had coldly prepared to destroy the entire continent if necessary, through the burning need for revenge that refused to go away. Through the feeling of betrayal he had known when Jonathan ordered him back into hell in the first place. Through the giddy, ecstatic rush of power he had felt in Dunlath when he had directed a word of power at someone who threatened his student. Through the strange fever dreams that had come to him when Sinthya had drugged him, and the feeling of panic that had taken him when he had been captured.

Through the cold emptiness of the first time he had killed while with the Own, for no reason other than that he had been told to, and of all the other lives he had taken, the men who never stood a chance. Through the bleakness of the streets, when he'd been too afraid to use his magic, when he'd known he was dying and known the Lioness was on his trail and known he had no more choices left and all that remained was wondering which way he would finally die. Through his desperate flight from what had been his home, the frantic attack on the guards who had tried to stop him and had died for it. Through the absolute hell of what Ozorne had done to him, through all the agonising torture. Through years of humiliation and mockery as he struggled to prove himself in a foreign land. Through all the darkness and fear of a childhood when he felt like a freak, when he was terrified of what he could do, when his family turned from him.

Numair felt bile burning the back of his throat, but physical sensation was only a distant feeling at this point as he reached into the deepest parts of himself. In that wavering instant, he finally forced himself to confront everything he was, and he deliberately embraced it. Decades of fear and pain and loneliness and betrayal flooded through him, and he opened eyes that burned with rage and turned to face his opponent once more as the sickening strength of his anger rolled through him.

"Enough."

He gathered up all the darkness and the hate and fed it with the fire of his Gift, lifting the staff Weiryn had given him and pouring the fury and pain and magic into the slender wood. The crystal burst into blinding white light and burned so brightly that Numair couldn't see anything but fire. Then the world rocked as Inar realised what he was doing and struck back; distantly, Numair heard himself scream, as the staff shattered in his hand and the crystal exploded into shards. But the insane strength of his last desperate effort still blazed through him; the first rule of fighting was to never do what your opponent expected. Barely able to focus on the blurry figure of the other mage, Numair cocked his head, smiled slightly, then punched the Scanran in the mouth.

During the struggle that followed, Numair realised just how weak he was. He had nothing left; he'd judged rightly when he'd decided that this insane plan was his only chance. _Now or never,_ he told himself as Inar managed to pin him down; he looked up at his opponent and two brown eyes met a single blue one as their gazes locked.

The world spun around him. Numair had never tried to do this deliberately before; it had only ever happened by accident. The ability to capture someone with your eyes was very rare, and usually if not always involved some external distraction to make your victim more susceptible; Numair had found out a long time ago that he didn't need it.

Oh, gods, Inar's mind was a mess. Numair's stomach churned; this was unlike anything he'd expected. When it had happened before, he hadn't realised it; he'd mesmerised people without meaning to, with no specific aim. This was different, deliberate, and he needed to gain absolute control quickly. Trying not to be sick, he shoved deeper, burrowing through layers of filth infesting the Scanran's head. At least Ozorne was insane; Inar was not. Everything Numair was seeing, every memory, every fantasy was based in cold reason, which made it all the more horrifying.

Pain screamed through him as the Scanran fought back; didn't matter. No time to worry about it now. _Almost... almost... there! _He had it. It felt as though his mind gripped a live eel, slimy and squirming. Numair tried to draw a deep breath and found that he couldn't; Inar's forearm was across his throat, choking him. Oh well. Red fire filled Numair's mind; yes, Hadensra still had power left. He drew on the other mage's Gift, shuddering at the feel of it dragging over him, dimly aware that his heart was labouring now as the lack of oxygen took its toll on his abused body. '_One-eye?'_

There was a flicker of confusion. The Scanran's mind had been all but subdued, badly damaged; there was little of him left now. '_What?'_

'_Burn.'_

Fleetingly, his mind turned to Daine, in the last few seconds of calm; he drew courage from the memory of her strength and purpose, remembering her voice when she told him that she loved him, and he smiled as he tried and failed to draw a breath that might be his last. His fingers moved, twitching, tracing the sigils in the soil beneath his body, and he felt the tingle of Inar's Gift raging through both of them.

The space enclosed by the red-and-black globe was filled from edge to edge with fire, and the world exploded.

* * *

When his vision cleared he was lying on his back with smoke thick in his lungs. Wheezing, he rolled onto his side and coughed, the spasms sending pain through him. His breathing eased slowly, and he assessed himself shakily; one or two slight burns, a few fairly minor cuts and bruises, pain in his chest when he breathed, a simply unbelievable headache and the usual feeling he got when he was completely drained of his Gift – a similar feeling to having been hurled against a mountain repeatedly. All in all, he'd been very lucky.

Wincing, he lifted his head and looked around. The red-and-black shield had gone; nothing marked the area where the battle had been fought now except the torn earth, craters, and some lingering steam in the hollows – and, nearby, the splintered wood and broken shards that was all that remained of his staff. A pity, that. He'd never have the chance to use anything like it again. Pushing himself to his elbows, hissing in pain, he looked from side to side and saw a red glint.

It took him quite a long time to get to his feet and look down at the spot. A surprisingly small pile of greasy-looking ash half-hid the gleam he'd spotted; gingerly he reached down and picked the ruby up, dusting it off. Grimacing, he rubbed the ash from his fingers on the remains of his shirt, swallowing; strange that a man could be reduced to such a small amount of ashes. He wanted to vomit, but wasn't sure he had the energy.

That had been without question the worst thing he had ever done. The sheer wrongness of it squirmed through him, and he realised he was shuddering uncontrollably, shaking with a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature. Hugging himself, his teeth chattering, he doubled over as nausea took him; there was nothing in his stomach to throw up, but he heaved and retched for several minutes anyway. Truthfully, whatever he had said to people in the past, things like this were why he always downplayed the black robe. Nothing could be worth doing something like that; not knowledge, not power, not even justice.

_Love. _The thought echoed in his head, his mind empty of all else, and he straightened slowly. Yes. That was why he'd done this terrible thing. Not just his love for Daine, although that was a part of it, it shaped everything he did and had done for a long time. No, it wasn't just for her, but for everyone.

His rambling was cut short by a coughing fit that left him gasping, but he was pleased to have worked it out. His mind wasn't working very well at the moment, the thoughts hadn't really seemed like him, but he could see the shape of the answer even if he couldn't put it into words. Whatever this had done to him personally – and he knew it had affected him badly, knew he was in shock and knew this would leave psychological scars – it had been worth it because of all the people who would surely have died, but now would live. He didn't know who they were, but that didn't matter.

Numair had done a lot of impressive things in his life. He'd fought for his adopted country many times, had stood with his friends to fight for what he thought was right, had unhesitatingly risked his life for others; but he'd never really understood what it meant to be a hero before. And it was likely that nobody else would ever know. Even if he wanted to talk about this, he knew he would never find the words. Yet... perhaps they already knew; his friends were heroes, after all – all of them. For probably the first time in his life, he didn't feel entirely unworthy of their company.

He did, however, feel exhausted, and hurt, and ill, and desperately worried about the aforementioned heroic friends who were no doubt risking their lives – _heroically _– at this very moment. Discovering that he was actually a better person than he had thought was a wonderful thing, or would be when he was capable of sitting down and thinking about it, but right now he was a wreck and barely conscious. _Daine._

Tucking the ruby into a pocket, he staggered to the small stream. The odd earth-glass fusion supported him as he knelt to drink; the water wasn't terribly clean, but he was too tired to care and swallowed it anyway before splashing his face and arms, cleaning the injuries he could see. Standing made the world spin around him, but he paid no attention, instead shaking out his right wrist to free the suddenly-visible bracelet from his shirt. No chance of going to Daine this time; even trying would probably make his skull implode, but he needed to know she was alive.

It should have been easy to tell that much from the focus. He hadn't even realised it needed any power to do so, until he tried it with absolutely nothing left. Pain exploded behind his eyes, blinding in its intensity, and he collapsed with a strangled sound. When the pain receded, he tried again, with the same result. All right, so he couldn't use the focus to find out if his love was still alive. So he'd have to go and find her instead.

He managed to walk a grand total of thirty yards before falling over. _So much for that plan_. Pushing himself to all fours, he stared blearily at the horizon, trying to convince himself that he could see Port Legann in the distance even though he knew he couldn't from this far away. He hurt all over and was unbearably tired; there was no way he could go anywhere just yet. Looking around, he saw a weeping willow tree nearby, the only real cover that hadn't caught fire; it would have to do.

Too weak to stand now, he crawled, dragging himself into the shade and sprawling on the ground under the tree. He'd rest here, and eventually either someone would come to find out who had won the duel or he'd recover enough strength to walk. If someone did come, they might not be on his side; nothing he could do about it. Even if he'd had a weapon, he didn't have the strength to defend himself. It would be ironic if he defeated the most powerful mage the opposition had only to be cut down by a common soldier fleeing the battlefield.

The sun had moved when he opened his eyes. Perhaps an hour, maybe less had passed. That was still too long to be just lying here. He tried to remember where the sun had been when the duel had started; as best he could tell, he'd been fighting Inar for almost two hours, meaning it had been three since the fight had begun, almost four since he left the camp outside Legann. Just working that out tired him, but he stubbornly made another attempt to concentrate on the bracelet again. This time the pain sent him reeling back into darkness.

* * *

He drifted in and out of consciousness over the next hour, his earlier revelations forgotten in the haze of exhaustion. Usually a mage's standard recovery after being drained so completely was to pass out for a day or so; it wasn't much of a survival strategy in hostile territory, but it was vital to allow the body and mind time to heal. He fought it with everything he had; he needed to know what was happening, whether his friends were all right. Whether Daine was all right.

A strange sound roused him. It wasn't quite an explosion; he couldn't really describe it. Blinking, trying to work out what had just happened, he stared up through the branches of the tree at the sky and felt a jolt; the sky was on fire.

It reminded him of the lights he'd seen in the Divine Realms. Weiryn had said they usually reflected mortal wars, but on that occasion they had represented the struggle between the gods and Chaos. For him to be seeing it in the mortal realms... He wasn't hallucinating, as far as he could tell, so... His mind wasn't working well, his thoughts sluggish, but he pieced it together. Someone had brought down Uusoae's pawn, and the Queen of Chaos had joined the fight openly.

Who had it been? Not Inar, which was just as well; right now he probably couldn't fight off a sickly kitten, never mind an angry Chaos queen. Probably Ozorne, then. There was simply no way the former emperor wasn't buried in all this up to his slimy neck. He wondered vaguely who had killed his old enemy, distantly regretful that he hadn't been there. Maybe Jon or Alanna. Or Daine, it occurred to him a moment later; she would certainly have been in the heart of the fighting despite everything anyone said to her. Yes, she would have been there to face Ozorne if she had to crawl over broken glass to do so; she hated the Stormwing as much as he did.

He shivered, cold with fear. Staring up at the flaming sky, he strained to see pictures in it, looking in vain for some hint of what was happening. Please, let her be alive. He would have whispered it aloud if he'd had the strength. Probably not much point praying now; the gods were no doubt a little busy right now. Even so, he clung to the thought; please, let her be alive.

Despite his best efforts, he blacked out again for a short while. He woke up once more just as the fires in the sky began to flicker and fade; he watched numbly as they died away and the sky returned to normal. Everything was very quiet as the fire died, an oppressive silence with the only sound his own ragged breathing and pounding heart. It was over, but who had won?

The sun sank a little further towards the horizon, barely visible through the clouds. No demons or horrors leaped from the earth to devour all life, and he eventually concluded that the gods had defeated Uusoae. That was all well and good, but had his friends survived? He hated not knowing. All he could do was lie here and hope someone eventually sent a messenger out to check on him; that was unlikely to happen soon. He wasn't a priority right now; he was trusted to take care of himself. Besides, if he'd won the duel he could wait a while; if he'd lost, there was no hurry to collect his corpse.

He made another attempt to use his focus to find out if Daine was alive. There was a slight improvement; it still hurt, but not badly enough to make him pass out. Another few hours and he might actually be able to do something. The effort would knock him out, but all he wanted was to know that she was alive.

Another hour crawled past. His injuries had finally stopped bleeding, at least, but he was still too weak to move. By now he'd gone from worry to true fear; surely they could have found someone to ride out and see who had won the duel by now? His imagination seemed to be the only part of his brain still working; it kept presenting him with all the possible reasons why nobody had come, morbidly insisting that they were all dead. Images of the chess game kept running through his mind. Afraid, hurt almost beyond endurance, all he could do was lie here and wait.

He forced his eyes open once more, automatically staring between the branches of the willow to track the sun's position. His reckoning of time was by no means reliable at this point, but even at the most conservative estimate he had now been lying here for a good three and a half hours wondering whether any of his friends were still alive. If he made it out of here, he promised himself, he was going to be very angry that he'd had to wait so long to hear. Hopefully he would have the luxury of being angry.

His next attempt to use the focus was more cautious; he wanted to stay conscious now, even if it meant being afraid. The pain was less, more of a warning than a blow; if he kept trying when he was too weak to do so he was going to damage himself. Falteringly, he grasped the locket tightly in his other hand, closing his eyes and picturing her face; _be alive. Please.

* * *

_

_The IMPORTANT NOTE, before we go any further; I've finally got that Numair-based discussion forum up and running! There's a forum link at the top of my profile now. Feel free to come nose through my ramblings and add some of your own._

_Now, the duel. Well. That was certainly... different, wasn't it? This scene has been through three distinct incarnations. I can't even really remember what the first version was. In the second version I was trying to be clever and I had Numair saying all kinds of sarcastic things, provoking Inar into making a mistake; I was always going to rewrite that, because the tone was wrong and this was never intended to be a funny chapter. This version was written late last night/early this morning. I should probably stop writing so late._

_Numair said it himself; Inar is, at this moment, a lot stronger than him. Whatever Inar has been doing in the war, he definitely hasn't been fighting dragons or recovering from being dragged between realms; nor has he been suffering from depression and from being in a dimension not his own. If it was just a question of power, Numair would have lost._

_But there's more to being a black robe than pure power. Every mage of this strength has that edge of instability in them, that part of them that is always thinking of just how much power they could wield; even Numair feels tempted on occasion. But he's a smart man. Those feelings are in his head and therefore under his control; it's just another weapon. And now he knows how to use it. Everyone's stronger when they're angry and hurt and scared – if you're a mage and you know how to control your emotions, it can boost your magic._

_Still, that boost could only take him so far – it weakened Inar, but it didn't kill him. For that, Numair has to do something else. As I've said before, his major skills are raw power and scary mental manipulation – he's out of power, so what's left? Inar still has some magic left. Not much, but enough._

_Numair's lucky, really, although I doubt he thinks so right now. If this hadn't worked, he would have needed to sacrifice himself and cast a spell that would kill the both of them. It really was all or nothing._

_I did tell you it was on a completely different level to his 'duel' with Tristan. That always struck me as being childish – thorn bushes and silk cocoons? No. When real mages fight, it's not going to be anything so frivolous. The idea is to kill, by any means necessary._

_Inar could have done the same thing Numair did – in fact, he probably did. He sacrificed his eye for power, he wouldn't baulk at fuelling his Gift with dark emotions. But he probably does that every time he fights, every time he does anything. Numair doesn't. He had a LOT of repressed darkness buried in there; channelling all of that through Weiryn's staff, all at once, packed a hell of a punch._

_Speaking of the staff... I broke it because there's absolutely no mention of it again. He doesn't seem to have it with him at any point after the spidren incident and it never reappears in later books either. I assume Weiryn never gave him another one. Maybe he didn't want one. I don't know._

_Now Numair has to deal with what's just happened – and where the hell is everyone? They all seem to have forgotten about him totally. You'd think someone could have wandered over to see whether he was still alive or not. Daine was in a different realm for some of the time, she has a valid excuse, but the others? Bah._

_As I said, I never intended things to go this way. I'm not sure where this idea came from, exactly. Did it work? Let me know. Next time, someone finally shows up, and we explore just why TP's ending makes no sense. Plus, there will be fluff._

_**Loten.**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Almost four hundred and fifty reviews! Thank you all very much. This chapter is shorter than some of the previous ones, I'm afraid.

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_

Hoofbeats broke the silence eventually. Numair had lost track of time completely now; drifting in and out of consciousness, more than half convinced that everyone was dead, numb with pain and fatigue, he lay listening to the sound move closer. One horse, with a rider; he could tell that much at least. Most likely a deserting soldier; hopefully from his side, probably not. He licked dry, cracked lips, tasting blood on them, wishing vainly for a drink.

The hoofbeats drew closer, and finally stopped. That was bad. He'd stiffened up, lying here, and there was no way he could do anything to defend himself. Even standing up would take what energy he had left; he was so desperately tired. No point in pretending nobody was here; this tree was poor cover and whoever the rider was, he would spot him eventually. He gathered his strength and dredged up a last lingering trace of sarcasm.

"Whoever you are, if you're here to kill me, you'll need to do it while I remain prone." Gods, he was weak. His voice sounded rough and hoarse to his ears. "Have the decency to be quick about it, so I can get back to my rest."

Faint sounds as the rider dismounted; then a voice answered that he had never thought he would hear again. "What I've got in mind isn't near so quick as killing!"

He stiffened in shock and disbelief, not sure if he'd heard correctly. Surely this was some product of delirium. Struggling to raise his head, he sought a gap in the branches, trying desperately to see for himself, hardly daring to hope. He was so weak and stiff by now that he could barely move, but that no longer mattered because she was there, she was alive, unless he was hallucinating... Swallowing, he managed to speak on the second or third attempt, his voice a cracked whisper. "_Daine?_"

His muscles screaming in protest, he forced himself to his knees and lurched to his feet, clinging to the tree for support as the world spun crazily around him, and she was there in front of him suddenly, driving him back against the willow's trunk – hard. "That _hurt_," he gasped reflexively, agony flaring in his abused body, but that too was entirely unimportant compared to the reality that she was here and they had both survived; nothing mattered compared to that. Before she could say anything, his arms tightened around her and he kissed her, beyond thought now and conscious only of a desperate need that was only partly physical.

She kissed him back, equally frantic, and the world slid away and dissolved in a haze of lips and hands. Both of them were injured, neither of them were dead, he loved her so much it hurt and nothing else mattered. Eventually they were both calm enough to let each other go, more or less, although he kept hold of her hands, needing the physical touch to reassure himself that this was real. Staring at her breathlessly, he said the first thing that came into his head.

"Will you marry me?" Not what he had meant to say, and had he been less exhausted, less hurt, he would never have dared ask, but now that he had said it he wouldn't have taken it back if he could. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and for the first time he knew that she might say yes, or at least might not say no.

Daine grinned at him; she looked a little the worse for wear, but far better than he must look at the moment, the best sight he had ever seen. Her eyes danced with suppressed laughter, and she had never looked so beautiful to him. "Maybe someday," she told him, "but only if you're very, very good."

He would have laughed if it didn't hurt so much, happiness overwhelming him at her answer. Someday was enough, more than he had hoped for. His exhausted mind fell back on sheer mischief and he smiled wickedly. "What if I'm very, very bad?" he whispered, pushing his luck as he drew her into his arms and leaned in for another kiss, slow and lingering.

When they had both caught their breath – he didn't understand how she affected him so strongly, and didn't particularly care – she smiled shakily at him. "Still maybe someday," she answered unsteadily, adding with a hint of challenge in her eyes, "but you're welcome to try to convince me to make it sooner." He grinned dazedly, but whatever he might have said in reply was lost as her expression changed. A moment later she giggled and looked back at him. "Cloud says company's coming. Onua, Tkaa and Kitten are on their way."

Numair sighed, vaguely amused at his reluctance; he was clinging to consciousness by a thread, and he still didn't want the interruption. "Then by all means, let us totter down to meet them," he replied wearily. "I will resume persuading you in regard to matrimony at another time, when we've rested, and eaten, and had baths." Biting back a groan, he pushed himself upright, away from the tree's support, and swayed.

She pulled his arm over her shoulders, and he tried not to lean too heavily on her. "So that Inar Hadensra was a hard fight?" she asked, somewhat unnecessarily.

"The hardest." They pushed through the willow's branches into the open. It was late afternoon by the look of the light; no wonder he was tired. Digging into his pocket with his free hand, he pulled out the ruby that had replaced the Scanran's eye and looked at it in distaste. "I believe I'll retire, and return to juggling for a living." He tossed the thing into the river. "I could support us with juggling, if you were to marry me," he added.

"We'll see." He took the hint and shut up, too tired to laugh. Cloud stood nearby, eyeing them; he met the pony's gaze and after a moment the mare snorted disdainfully and flicked an ear, grudgingly nosing his arm for a moment. Taking that as approval, he smiled, before realising that he still didn't know what had happened – he'd been distracted.

"I take it Uusoae was acting through Ozorne?" he asked quietly. Daine nodded, her eyes suddenly far away.

"I'll tell you all of it later. It will take a bit of telling."

The two of them limped unsteadily over the broken ground towards the approaching figures. Blackness flickered at the edges of Numair's vision, but he ignored his pain and fatigue completely, focusing instead on the warmth of Daine at his side as she supported him and the distant, welcome sight of his friends.

By dint of considerable effort, it was Kitten who reached them first, leaping free of Tkaa and almost knocking Tahoi flying. Gently drawing away from Daine's support, Numair half-collapsed to his knees and hugged the dragonet, grinning. "I missed you too," he told her softly, closing his eyes for a moment.

A heartbeat later he heard Daine shout, "Tahoi, no!" and opened his eyes just as the huge dog crashed into him. Laughter rasped in his throat as he weakly and ineffectively tried to fend off the excited animal, wincing and closing his eyes as his face was thoroughly and enthusiastically licked. Onua's voice rang out sharply, calling her dog off, and Numair opened his eyes again, shaking his head.

"Some welcome this is," he wheezed as Onua moved into view.

"Can you stand?" she asked, ignoring his complaint.

Numair considered the question for some time. "No," he decided finally, before groaning as he forced himself to roll over and pushed himself to his hands and knees. It took Daine, Onua and Tkaa to help him stand. After some debate, Cloud grudgingly allowed him to lean against her shoulder with his arm draped over the pony's neck; he could feel Daine's knee against his back as she sat in the saddle behind him.

"The Horsemistress and her assistant, and neither of you thought to bring a horse," he mumbled thickly as the odd little procession began to limp their unsteady way back towards Legann.

Daine gently poked his shoulder. "I had other things on my mind."

"Excuses, excuses," he told her, smiling, before looking at Onua. "Isn't Spots still at Legann?"

The K'mir snorted. "He is. He's locked in the stable. Since he came back without you at Midsummer, nobody's been able to get near him. He'll just about tolerate my grooming him, but that's it. He won't let anyone touch him."

Frowning slightly – that didn't sound anything like his mild-natured gelding – Numair turned to look over his shoulder at Daine.

She smiled and told him, "That horse loves you, you know." After a moment she added, so quietly that he barely heard, "He's not the only one." Caught off guard, Numair blinked at her, smiling unsteadily as warmth seeped through his battered body. The look in her eyes vindicated everything he'd done – for that look, he'd do it all again a thousand times harder.

* * *

–_Greetings, mortal._– The Dream King's voice reached him, making him frown in confusion. Weren't they walking back to Legann? Gainel appeared in front of him and shook his head, smiling slightly. –_You lost consciousness before you reached your city. That was several days ago; you have now passed into true sleep._–

Numair processed this slowly. He didn't remember passing out, but he wasn't at all surprised that he had. He had been hurt more seriously than he had been willing to admit. "So I survived, then?"

–_Indeed. A most impressive feat for a mortal. You and Veralidaine have exceeded all possible expectations._–

"So nice to be appreciated." Numair eyed the Master of Dream quizzically; there was always a point to these conversations, and he wanted to know the reason for this one before he slid back into sleep. "What happened, my lord?" he asked after a moment. "All I know is that it was Ozorne."

–_That story belongs to Veralidaine,_– Gainel responded, smiling in what seemed to be open amusement. –_I would not wish to deprive her of the chance to try and explain. In addition, I am not certain that you would believe me._–

"Daine did something unbelievable again?" he replied sarcastically, smiling. "Why would I find that hard to believe? She generally manages it every day."

–_Perhaps,_– the god conceded dryly. –_I think she may still surprise you, though._– Numair nodded agreement with that; he had a feeling Daine would still be surprising him in forty years' time, if either of them lived that long. Gainel continued more seriously, his eyes on Numair's face. –_I wished to thank you. The two of you did what we could not – or would not. Without you, all would have been lost._–

He shook his head. "I did very little, my lord. The victory was Daine's, not mine."

–_I doubt she would agree with you, but I will not belabour the point. You need further rest before you can awaken, and your friends are all very anxious to hear your story – I understand that Veralidaine is refusing to tell them anything at all until you are awake._– Gainel reached out and touched Numair's forehead with a fingertip. –_Sleep._– As darkness took him once more, he distantly heard the god's voice, sounding very far away. –_Goodbye, Numair. Live well._–

* * *

He opened his eyes and blinked fuzzily at the ceiling, wondering idly how Daine and Onua had managed to get him back to Legann if he'd passed out. Tkaa might have been able to drag him, perhaps, or maybe Onua had used a speaking spell to summon more help. He didn't feel as if he'd been dragged anywhere; in fact, he felt remarkably well, all things considered – a little stiff and aching, perhaps, some lingering soreness here and there, but he felt well rested and for the first time in a very long while he wasn't worried about anything.

Lifting his head a fraction, he glanced around. The room looked like every sickroom he'd ever been in – plain, functional, quiet and clean. Not quite empty, however – a weight on his legs turned out to be Kitten, and Daine was curled up in a chair beside the bed, looking at him and smiling. "Hello."

"Hello, yourself," he replied quietly, smiling back at her. "How long?"

She rolled her eyes. "You win again. Six days, this time. I don't see why you always have to be unconscious longer than anyone else." Behind the joking tone he recognised genuine concern and gave her an apologetic look.

"Sorry. It wasn't entirely my idea." Six days was a record even for him. "Where is everyone?" he asked cautiously.

"Sleeping. It's the middle of the night." Daine smiled slightly. "Alanna gave up trying to get me to leave days ago. I'm not supposed to disturb you, though."

Ignoring this, Numair looked around. "So there's nobody else nearby?" he checked.

Frowning slightly and looking suspicious, she replied slowly, "No."

He grinned. "Good. Come here." Her eyes widened fractionally before she grinned back at him and came to sit on the edge of the bed as he hauled himself into a sitting position and reached for her. "I won't kiss you yet," he murmured against her hair as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. "My mouth tastes like something died in it."

"Very considerate," she murmured in reply, snuggling closer. For a long time neither of them said anything, savouring the embrace; Numair shivered as he confronted again just how easily he could have lost her. After a time he felt dampness against his shirt and realised she was crying.

"What is it, sweet?" he asked softly, drawing back to look at her. The sheer pain in her eyes made him freeze. _Oh, no. _Swallowing, he made himself ask the next question, although he didn't want to hear the answer. "Who did we lose?"

Scrubbing her eyes with her sleeve, Daine didn't answer immediately, focusing on getting her breathing under control. Finally she sniffed inelegantly and looked at him miserably. "Rikash and the darkings."

That wasn't the answer he'd been dreading, but Numair was surprised at how much it hurt to hear. The brash, irritating Stormwing had been his friend too, and the darkings had been good companions. Closing his eyes for a moment, he murmured a Tyran blessing for the dead before looking back at her. He didn't need to say anything; they shared their grief silently, and he knew she hadn't been able to talk to anyone else about it. Nobody else would have understood. "How?" he asked hoarsely.

"Some kind of magical snake-monster killed Rikash," she replied, wiping her eyes and getting herself under control. "He was... he died a hero." A hint of a smile cut through her tears. "It sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

"It sounds like Rikash," he corrected softly, trying to smile back at her. "He never acted the way he was supposed to."

Nodding, she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Ozorne killed Jelly and Leaf. For no reason except that he could."

Numair felt almost nothing at that. He'd finally reached his limit on that score; there was simply no way he could hate Ozorne any more than he did now. He didn't answer, simply hugged her close against him, and after a long time murmured, "I'm sorry."

She nodded slightly and turned her face into his chest. "So'm I."

They sat quietly for a while. Kitten had been watching them; now she uncurled from her place by Numair's feet and picked her way up the bed to sit with them, curling up in Numair's lap and nudging her head under his free hand. Finally Daine drew away, looking more like her usual self. "I hear people coming," she said by way of explanation, sliding off the bed and leaning down to kiss his cheek. "Your beard itches," she informed him as she retreated back to her chair.

"I had noticed," he replied dryly, scratching his jaw and looking up as the door opened. As soon as the newcomers saw that he was awake, the one in front spoke.

"How are you not dead?"

"Hello, Alanna." Numair grinned weakly at his oldest friend. "I honestly don't know."

* * *

It was almost an hour before all the greetings were done and everyone had finished celebrating the fact that against all the odds they were all alive. Alanna was controlling speaking spells so that Jon, Harailt and Lindhall could be present for what promised to be a very long conversation; Buri was with Jon back in Corus, Thayet and Raoul with Harailt nearby, and Lindhall had volunteered to journey to the Swoop precisely so that George could listen in. Actually in the room were Alanna, Onua, Tkaa and Daine.

"All right, start talking," the Lioness told him.

"I'm injured," he protested.

"You are not," she replied briskly, "since I and a lot of other healers have spent the last week healing you. Don't whine. You owe us a story."

"You're taking advantage of a sick man," he grumbled, trying not to smile. Taking a deep breath, he began a carefully edited account of the Divine Realms, being interrupted frequently by questions and occasional exclamations of disbelief. For the most part, Numair told the truth; he glossed over certain conversations, was intentionally vague about Temptation Lake and missed out the aftermath of the spidren attack entirely, but everything else was told simply and with a minimum of embellishment – the story was dramatic enough without being enhanced by his Player's streak. He glanced at Daine only once, when he skipped from the spidren attack directly to the Sea of Sand; she was blushing slightly but didn't seem either surprised or upset that he'd missed it out. They needed to talk things through with one another before anyone else got involved.

By the time he'd reached the Dragonlands it was dawn, and his voice was starting to give way. Pausing only for a drink of water, he kept going stubbornly; the story was nearly over, and he wanted this over with in one session if possible. He ended with their arrival at Thayet's ship, and for a long time there was silence.

"I suppose there's no chance you were lying about any of that?" Alanna asked faintly.

"Afraid not," he rasped, grinning lopsidedly.

"It's all true," Daine agreed from her perch on the edge of the bed – there weren't enough seats for everyone. That was the excuse, anyway. Numair was reasonably certain nobody had noticed that she had linked her fingers through his; Kitten had helpfully curled up so that one wing hid their joined hands.

Someone swore in awestruck tones through one of the speaking spells; Numair couldn't tell who it was. _Sideways, _he agreed silently, before looking up at Alanna. "You're only jealous that our stories are better than yours."

"Hardly. You just wait until they start writing ballads about the pair of you. I'm going to memorise the most annoying one and teach it to everyone either of you have ever met."

"Stop stealing my ideas," Numair replied, making everyone laugh – even now, his favourite way of irritating his friend was to start humming one of the many ballads about the Lioness.

Jon's voice echoed through the spell. "What about your duel with Hadensra?"

Numair's laughter faded. "There's not much to say," he answered quietly. "We fought. He was better rested than I was. I got lucky. I took a risk, it worked, I killed him. Do I have to go into details?" He wasn't quite pleading, but he really, really didn't want to talk about it.

"I suppose not," Jon conceded. "Your turn, Daine. What happened when you went after Ozorne?"

"We fought. He was better rested than I was. I got lucky. I took a risk, it worked, I killed him," Daine replied flippantly, mimicking Numair's rhythm if not the tone of his voice.

"Daine." The king's voice was stern. Sighing, Daine paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, before slowly beginning a story even more fantastic than the one Numair had just told.

Numair listened in silence along with everyone else; it was a lot to take in all at once. Some of the things she was trying to describe were almost beyond belief; she'd come face to face with the Great Gods, and more than that, Father Universe and Mother Flame? It was difficult enough just listening; actually experiencing it must have been unbelievable. _You still surprise me, magelet.

* * *

_

_I promised you fluff, and I have delivered. There's more to come. Numair raises an excellent point – why did nobody think to bring him a horse? Did they really think he'd be capable of walking after fighting Inar? Silly people._

_It was nice of Gainel to say thank you, wasn't it? Technically the gods all now owe Numair and Daine a favour – I wonder if we'll ever see that._

_Time for storytelling. Numair needed to hear about Rikash and the darkings before everyone else showed up – they wouldn't have understood. And hm, seems there's a lot neither he nor Daine are telling their friends – I can't imagine why!_

_The next chapter of this story will be the last. I don't want it to end, I have to admit, but it must. There will be some confessions from Daine, a bit of semi-serious discussion and one of my trademark gooey endings. And then... that will be the end._

_**Loten.**_


	16. Chapter 16

_**Edit May 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Incidentally, credit for Alanna's opening line in the last chapter – "How are you not dead?" – goes to __**Madame Star**__. It's a fair point, really! In the interests of public safety, I must warn you, there will be shameless amounts of fluff ahead – please use caution when reading this fic in public.

* * *

_This was a familiar situation, Numair mused. It was several days later; he wasn't fully healed yet, but he was recovering and had reached the point where he was able to get up, have a bath and a shave and dress himself in clean clothing. That alone was absolute bliss. He was also healed enough that he wasn't sleeping all day; as a result, the mage was _bored. _Alanna had finally ordered him to take some gentle exercise, with emphasis on the gentle, and to stay out of people's way.

He wandered through Legann's keep in the sunshine, hands in his pockets, with no apparent destination in mind as he thought about what he'd missed while unconscious. What remained of the opposing army had retreated so far and fast that they were probably all back behind their own borders already. The enemy immortals, those that remained in this realm – apparently many had vanished during the battle – had scattered; mopping them up would be the work of the next few months. Tortall's losses had been surprisingly light, given everything that had happened, although the final tally wouldn't be known for a few more days at least.

That final tally wouldn't be accurate, either, he reflected soberly. Nobody was going to mourn Rikash but for himself and Daine. Barzha and Hebakh had taken their flock and departed, not staying to join their fellows in despoiling the dead; he had no idea what had happened to the Stormwing's body. Nobody would grieve for the darkings, either. Briefly he wondered how many other situations like that existed; how many had died with nobody to mourn for them?

After a moment he shook it off. The day was warm, the air was clean, and he felt good enough to want to keep that feeling. There would be time to dwell on the darkness, but right now he wanted sunlight. Their other immortal allies had returned home; the badger god had dropped by Numair's room in the middle of the night to wish him farewell, and to add to the tally of the people who had said _I told you so _recently. Diamondflame and Wingstar too had departed, with vague hints that if it was possible they would like Kitten to visit the Dragonlands at some point – although given the way dragons thought, that might not be until after both Numair and Daine had died of old age, assuming they lived that long.

* * *

He found his way down to the stables eventually. It wasn't too difficult to find the particular stall he sought; Numair simply put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, then listened for a moment and followed the answering call. Hauling himself up stiffly, he perched awkwardly on the partition dividing two stalls and reached into the dimness; Spots snuffled at his hand before swinging his head around and solidly nudging against Numair's chest, burying his nose against Numair's shirt and apparently sniffing him over for injuries – he'd seen Cloud do the same to Daine more times than he could count.

Numair looked around with somewhat theatrical caution to check that he was unobserved, before smiling and putting his arms around the gelding's neck, hugging him. "Hello, boy," he murmured softly. "Miss me?" Spots pushed closer for a moment before tossing his head to break the hug. Blowing out a breath into Numair's face, he dropped his nose and pointedly nudged Numair's hip – or, more precisely, his trouser pocket. Numair grinned wryly. "That's what I thought." Reaching into the indicated pocket, he produced an apple and deftly twisted it into two halves, feeding one to his horse. "You old fraud."

Crunching the fruit, Spots didn't bother to respond, except to dribble sticky juice down Numair's sleeve as he reached for the second piece of apple. Numair sat in the hay-scented dimness of the stable for a time, absently combing his gelding's mane with his fingers; once upon a time a horse had just been a horse, but even before he'd met Daine, he and Spots had been together for years. They made a good team. And after so long around the Wildmage, the gelding was more intelligent than many humans.

"Tell me where Daine is?" he asked finally. Spots rolled an eye at him and snorted; he'd never realised horses could snigger before. "Oh, shut up," he told the animal wryly. "You don't get to say 'I told you so' if I couldn't understand you telling me. It doesn't count." The gelding blew through his nose, clearly amused, and flicked an ear. "Everyone's a mind reader these days," Numair grumbled. "Just answer the question, please?"

Relenting, the horse turned his head and stared fixedly through the left side of his stall and slightly upwards. Numair processed this; he was getting better at communicating with animals now. "The walltops?" he guessed. The gelding whickered softly, and Numair gave him another apple. "Thank you. Stop trying to bite the stableboys. We'll be going home soon." Jumping down, and wincing as the landing jarred him, he headed back out into the sunshine and turned left, heading for the stair up to the walltop.

* * *

He found her eventually, leaning on the walltop and looking out over the distant harbour, and took a moment just to look at her, memorising small details – the gleam of sunlight on her hair, picking out all the subtle highlights in her curls; the curve of her back, her shirt caught against the stone and stretched across her shoulders; the air of relaxation in her stance as she propped her chin on her hand and looked at the view. Vaguely aware that he was staring, he reluctantly forced himself to stop, and cleared his throat gently to announce his presence.

Turning, she smiled at him. "Hello. Look who's up and around."

"Only just," he replied ruefully, limping towards her. "Alanna says it'll be a few days yet before the soreness heals properly." He leaned against the walltop beside her, not quite close enough to touch, acutely aware of the scant inches separating them. "What about you?"

"I'm all right. I was mostly healed before I came back; I was more tired than anything."

He nodded and they stood without speaking for a while. Kitten was sitting by Daine's feet; since they'd come back, the dragon had refused to let her foster mother out of her sight for more than a few minutes. Turning, Numair carefully lowered himself to sit on the walkway, leaning back against the wall gratefully and closing his eyes; he felt more than saw Daine sit beside him. They still weren't quite touching; it created an oddly pleasant sense of tension, and Numair broke the mood with some regret.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" she asked unconvincingly. He opened one eye.

"About whatever it is that you weren't telling us the day I woke up." She looked away, and he stretched his legs out across the width of the walkway. "I've known you too long, magelet – I always know when you're hiding something," he reminded her with a smile. When her expression didn't lighten, he added reflectively, "When you don't say something, it's always for a good reason. I won't push. But if you do want to talk..." He left it hanging and settled back against the stone.

"It's two things, really," she admitted finally, sounding uncertain. "I... You should know one of them. And I think... I think I need to tell someone about the other. It... bothers me."

"I'm listening."

Despite the fact that she clearly needed to talk, Daine was silent for some time, before finally taking a deep breath and visibly steeling herself. "It was after... everything I told you all," she began slowly; her eyes were fixed somewhere in the distance, her hands curled into loose fists, and he could feel the tension in her body. "The... the Black God suggested that the Stormwings should be held in the Divine Realms because of what Ozorne did. Maybe all immortals. I..." She fell silent, visibly struggling for words; watching her uncertainly, seeing the depths of her turmoil in her eyes, Numair hesitantly reached out and laid his hand over hers. Taking a breath and avoiding his eyes, she ended in a rush of words. "I wouldn't let them, I argued to let them all stay in the mortal realms."

She pulled away from his hand and drew her knees up under her chin. Now she _did _look at him, and he recognised the almost wounded look in her eyes; he'd seen it before, on a remote beach years ago, when she had told him – and Onua – what had happened to her in Snowsdale. It was the look that said more clearly than words that she expected rejection.

Knowing how much was riding on his response, Numair took a few minutes to think things through. He had overheard her conversation with Rikash about Stormwing origins; they had a specific place and role in mortal life. The barrier that had originally segregated them had been made by humans, mages like himself; it had never been intended. And not all the immortals now loose were bad. There were many benign species, and the Stormwings themselves were highly individual – Barzha's flock were surely not the only members of their kind willing to embrace change. Besides, the worst Stormwing of them all had originally been human.

_The world is changing. It's arrogant and stupid to think we have the power to stop it, and we certainly don't have the right. _No, he didn't like the idea, but that didn't matter. "In your place, Daine, I hope I would have had the courage to do exactly the same," he said finally, looking at her.

She relaxed very slightly, but the almost painful shadow of fear in her eyes didn't lessen. "Really?"

"Really," he repeated firmly. "We've been fighting them for more than four years, magelet. I know you wouldn't have made such a decision lightly, or out of sentiment. Humans need predators too, just like any other animal. I taught you about food chains myself, remember?"

The faintest shadow of a smile crossed her face. "I remember."

"Well then," he said more lightly, reaching to touch her cheek gently. He slid his fingers under her chin and turned her face to look at him. "You made the right choice, sweet," he told her softly. "Not the easy choice, or the pleasant choice, but the right one. I'm proud of you." After a moment he added wryly, "I wouldn't tell any of the Own or the Riders just yet, though. You've just created a lot of extra work for them."

Her answering grin held an edge of nerves, but he could see the relief in her eyes. Tracing his fingers along her jaw, he lingered for a moment as she turned her head slightly to nuzzle his palm before reluctantly pulling away. "Speaking of making choices... that's the other thing I need to tell you..."

Numair took his hand away with some reluctance, sternly telling himself to behave. Turning slightly to face her, he settled against the wall once more and waited. She seemed less nervous – no, not less nervous, but nervous in a different way, and he waited curiously to hear what else had happened.

"Mithros made me make a choice," Daine said softly, watching his face. "He told me that the Godborn make too many problems, that he had to... 'limit my influence', I think he said. I forget exactly. Anyway, he told me I had to choose – either I came back here to the mortal realms, or I stayed there as a lesser goddess, but I'd never be able to change my mind."

He hissed softly, staring at her. "That's not fair," he said before he could stop himself – usually that was one of his least favourite phrases, but in this instance he felt justified. _That _was her reward for saving the world? To have to choose between her mortal home and her immortal family? Momentary horror sent a shiver through him as for an instant he wondered wildly what choice she had made, before he told himself not to be an idiot – obviously she had chosen this realm, or she wouldn't be here now. Even so, the thought had scared him, and would probably haunt his dreams. Swallowing, he asked in some confusion, "Why did you choose here? Your family – your parents..." It was all she had ever wanted since he'd known her.

"It's not like I'll never see them again," she replied quietly. "They can still visit me, just not the other way around. I didn't belong there; neither of us did. I have friends here, and work; I'm needed." Colour rose in her cheeks, and she dropped her eyes, biting her lip before glancing up at him through lowered lashes. "And... I couldn't leave you."

Numair stared at her. For probably the first time in his life, he was completely and utterly lost for words – literally speechless. He spoke half a dozen languages, and he couldn't think of anything to say in any of them. This was beyond his comprehension, and it was quite a while before he found his voice.

"You... you gave up immortality and divine power for – _me_?" he asked incredulously. When she nodded, blushing now, he continued to stare at her. "Are you insane?"

Daine looked taken aback by this reaction. "What?"

"I'm not worth that, Daine," he managed hoarsely. His throat was tight, and he felt uncomfortably close to tears.

Her worried expression changed to one of exasperation. "You'd better be," she scolded playfully, "because I've chosen already." He must have looked as bewildered as he felt, because her eyes softened and she smiled, reaching out to touch his cheek as he had done to her earlier. "Ma said you were a good man," she told him gently, then smothered a giggle. "Well, what she actually said was that you were a fair strange man, but a good one."

Despite his confusion and almost-painful emotions, he half-smiled at the description, but continued to look at her uncertainly. This could not be real. Shaking her head slightly, she shifted onto her knees, moving closer. "Is it so hard to believe?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he replied honestly. "You know me better than anyone ever has. How can you possibly think I'm worth it?" She'd seen everything that he was over the years, good and bad.

"How can I _not_?" she countered. Sliding a hand into his hair, she tugged his head around and met his eyes. "I chose you. I love you. Now stop being an idiot." The brisk, matter-of-fact tone did more to restore his sanity than anything else could, and he started to believe that she actually meant it. A moment later she leaned closer and kissed him, and he lost what little remained of his ability to form coherent thoughts.

When they drew apart a while later – had his life depended on it, he couldn't have said how much time had passed, but it definitely hadn't been long enough – Numair grinned somewhat breathlessly at her. "You do realise it's going to take a lot more than that to stop me being an idiot?"

"I said no to being a goddess, remember?" she shot back, smiling and slightly flushed. "I don't have that sort of power."

"Thank you for that," he replied dryly, before smiling mischievously. "So let me make sure I've got this clear. You killed Ozorne, confronted the Queen of Chaos, stood up to the Greater Gods over Stormwing rights, argued with Mithros himself, and then turned down the chance to become a goddess?" He started to laugh helplessly before he'd even finished the sentence; she blushed, then glared at him, but he truly couldn't stop. Only when his ribs hurt and he couldn't breathe did he finally fall silent, gasping for air. "Oh, magelet, even for you that sounds like a busy day. And your mother thinks _I'm _strange?"

Daine continued to glare at him, but finally her lips twitched and she half-smiled, giving in and laughing a little herself. "Well, when you put it like that..."

They sat quietly side by side in the sunlight for a while as his breathing returned to normal after his slightly hysterical laughing fit. Gradually the restful silence between them changed, the slow tension from earlier creeping in; it was almost settled between them, but not quite. They looked at one another, neither sure of what to say now; it was Daine who broke the impasse. "What happens now?" she asked uncertainly, her voice soft.

"Whatever you want," he replied without needing to think about it. He twisted to face her and met her eyes squarely. "I mean it, Daine. Someday, you told me, and that's fine with me. I'll wait." He smiled suddenly. "I think I've been waiting most of my life for you. A few more months or even years won't hurt." It might well sound stupid, but that didn't mean it wasn't true.

She still looked uncertain. "You asked me to marry you," she pointed out softly.

Numair's smile turned wry. "That was almost as much of a surprise to me as it was to you," he told her gently. "Don't worry about it, sweet. I didn't expect you to say yes. I'm not sure I even wanted you to, not yet. I meant it, _never_ doubt that, but we have plenty of time – hopefully, the rest of our lives." She searched his face for a moment, then nodded, reassured, and returned his smile.

"You're still welcome to try and persuade me," she said mischievously, and he grinned at her.

"No arguments here, magelet."

Setting his back against the wall once more, he relaxed slowly, and smiled when she moved to rest against him; he slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her close, and she rested her head on his chest. Kitten moved to lie across both their laps, effectively ensuring that neither of them could move – and providing a convenient excuse if anyone came along and wondered why they were sitting so close together. Resting his cheek against her hair, Numair closed his eyes and let the last remnants of tension slide away. He wasn't afraid of the future any more; he was looking forward to it. This was where he truly belonged.

"I love you."

**THE END.

* * *

**

_Spots is actually surprisingly good fun to write. You have to love a horse with a sense of humour. And when you think about it, both Spots and Cloud would have known how Numair felt long before he did – if nothing else, they'd have been able to smell it. Ahem. Interesting that neither of them told Daine, isn't it? There might be a story there._

_At this point, Numair's the only one to know the full story, about the Stormwings and about Daine's choice. I imagine that once the full truth about their relationship comes out, Daine might tell the others that she effectively gave up immortality for him; I don't see her telling anyone else about the Stormwings for years yet, if ever. Who else would understand? Rikash was Numair's friend too, after all._

_Numair makes another excellent point – how can Sarra justify calling _him _strange, compared to Daine? Seriously, she does much weirder things!_

_And no, Numair never expected Daine to say yes when he proposed. I'm not at all certain he even meant to ask her yet, the state he was in. He's just as worried about marriage being a trap as she is, after all. That doesn't mean he's not sincere; he really does want to spend the rest of his life with her. But neither of them are ready for marriage yet. All things in time._

_That brings us to the end of this story, and of the quartet. I've been working on this for about a year now, start to finish, and it's been one hell of a ride. I've had a blast writing this and your response to it has been absolutely unbelievable. I never for a second imagined that I would get a tenth of the response I've had; I certainly never expected to not only be nominated for a competition but to do so well. I want to thank you all; you have no idea what this means to me. That something I've done has been so well received by so many people... it's incredible. Every time I read a review from someone telling me that I've got Numair exactly right, or that a line made them laugh, it makes me smile. Thank you all so much. It means more than I could ever say._

_So, where do we go from here? I'm definitely not going to stop writing. That said, I think I do need a short break, a couple of weeks or so at the most I would imagine, just to clear my head. Then I will be returning to Tortall, and to my one-shots set between and after the books. And to Arram's story; I definitely want to try that, although I'm making no promises about whether or not I'll upload it – it's going to be very difficult to write. (I also have a feeling that several of you – naming no names; you know who you are! – are going to push me into trying some smut. I'm making no promises about that, either!) I have a few half-completed stories from other fandoms, too, but Tortall is always going to be my first love – as it were._

_Future plans aside; for the moment, this is where the story ends. You've all made me very happy; I hope I've returned the favour in a small way. I love you all._

_**Loten.**_


End file.
